


We Are Such Stuff

by inevitablethief



Series: As Dreams Are Made On [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Doctor Castiel, Firefighter Dean, Fluff, Lawyer Sam, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 62,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablethief/pseuds/inevitablethief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are apparently captured by a djinn, but, while their mutual fantasy world gives Sam the life he'd always wanted, Dean finds himself in a world fueled by desires he'd yet to let himself admit.  Faced with his unspoken feelings for Castiel, Dean may be unable to resist temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not in Kansas Anymore

The first thing Dean became aware of was the cold floor underneath him. The second and third things were the dull ache in his head and the trio of concerned faces staring down at him. Not a one of them was familiar; two of the three were wearing scrubs in the cheesy patterns people who worked with kids often wore and the other was in jeans and a button down. The man in the jeans reached his hand down and helped Dean to his feet.

“You alright there, Dean?” the woman in scrubs asked as she snaked her own hand to Dean’s wrist. “Pulse is fine. Maybe a little elevated, but that’s to be expected.” She moved her hand to his forehead with a practiced gesture. “No fever, either.”

The third man drifted away as Dean looked around at his surroundings. Given the clear presence of two nurses in what looked like a cafeteria, he could only surmise he was in…a hospital cafeteria. He looked down at his own clothes, afraid he was back in some Gabriel induced Dr. Sexy fantasy, but he was dressed in his normal jeans with a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a black t shirt; he couldn’t remember if they were the same he’d passed out in.

The male nurse scrutinized Dean goodnaturedly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the pregnant one, Dean.” The two nurses laughed. Dean barely had time to be confused by the statement when the male nurse fixed him with a curious stare. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Dean’s hand instinctively went to his stomach (thankfully no evidence of a baby, whatever that statement had meant), and yeah, it was kind of rumbly. “I could eat.”

“Good thing we’re in a cafeteria, then,” the female nurse chirped brightly. “I’ll get you some jello.”

“And a burger,” Dean called after her. He didn’t know where he was or why he was there, but he might as well eat real food.

“You, sit.” The male nurse forced him into a chair at one of the tables that surrounded them. “And if you feel faint again, put your head between your legs. I’m going to page your better half.”

Better half? What the hell was going on here? “No, no, no. Don’t bother,” Dean blustered. “I’ve got an inner ear thing. It’s cool. I’m on antibiotics. I will be fine.”

The female nurse returned with a glass dish of jiggly green crap that Dean was not going to eat. “Where’s my burger.”

“You’ve got to watch your cholesterol, Mr. Dad-to-be. I thought you’d given up junk food.”

There that was again. Dean had never been more confused. Not when he ended up in the future, or in that alternate reality, or that other alternate reality, or the past—twice. He rested his hands against his face and felt the strange touch of metal against his cheek. Pulling his hands away again, he examined them. His left ring finger was encircled by an intricately engraved silver band—a wedding ring.

Dean attempted not to hyperventilate, as that would only draw back the attention of the two nurses who had finally given him some space as they wandered back to the cafeteria line with shy waves. In whatever alternate reality he was in, he was married and…god, he was expecting a kid, wasn’t he. Blind panic threatened to overtake him until he thought of Sam and whether he was trapped here as well. They’d been together in some crappy motel room on a hunt; Sam had been doing research while Dean napped. Finding a cell phone in his back pocket (fortunately unharmed when he presumably took a spill to the floor), he dialed the most likely number to find Sam at and crossed his fingers.

“Dean?” came Sam’s concerned voice.

“Sammy?” Dean breathed, relief flooding over him. “Where are you, man?”

“Washington D.C. What about you?”

Dean finally took in his surroundings in detail, looking for any indication of location, and lucked out that the name of the city was in the hospital.

“Chicago, apparently.”

“Dean, I…” Sam’s voice cracked with emotion. “I appear to be married.”

“Me, too, man,” Dean growled, turning his ring in a circle. As it moved, he could see a tan line marked its spot.

“There’s a picture on my desk. Me and Jess.” Emotion broke in his voice once more. “And two little boys.”

Mr. Father-to-be, echoed in Dean’s head, but he pushed it away for more practical thoughts. “What do you think, Sammy? Angels messing with us again? Any chance Gabriel’s really alive? Cas thought it was a possibility.”

“Djinn?” Sam countered.

“But we were in our motel room. Weren’t we?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s all kind of fuzzy.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean growled. “So you’re at work? This universe’s work?”

“Yeah. I’m a lawyer,” he marveled, voice full of awe and pride.

Dean smiled to himself, proudly. Sounds like wherever they were decided to give Sammy the life he deserved, the one he should have had if destiny hadn’t intervened. “Then maybe go about your day until we figure things out?”

“What if I have to go to court? You do remember I didn’t actually attend law school.” Sam’s voice was tinged with panic that made Dean’s smile a bit brighter.

“Lawyers actually spend very little time in court, Sam. You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?” Sam asked confusedly.

“TV, Sammy. You’ve got to get your nose out of a book.”

Sam huffed in response. They finished up their conversation, deciding to meet up as soon as they could, but in the meantime play along to whoever’s game this was. If Sammy was living his dream life, then that pointed to djinn, but Dean couldn’t figure out how one could have gotten to them. They’d been dealing with a werewolf outside of Oklahoma City, nothing to do with djinn. He wasn’t going to rule out Angels, though, because the power to infect the two of them and create two separate but intersecting worlds for each seemed like a whole lot more magic than any djinn they’d faced before. Either way, the best thing to do was play along until the shit hit the fan.

But Dean didn’t exactly know what the hell he was doing here. He certainly didn’t look like a doctor, but the random nurses knew him. Oh, one of them offered to page his wife. He grinned lasciviously; he was married to a hot doctor. Nice. A pregnant hot doctor? This world wasn’t too bad.

And then the floor dropped out because a familiar redhead was making her way decisively towards Dean. A very pregnant familiar redhead.

“Hey, there, bitch.”

“Charlie!” Dean cried out, trying to make his voice sound delighted rather than terrified. Crap. Crap. Crap. In his dream life he’s married to Charlie? Lesbian Charlie? Little sister I never had Charlie? Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

“Nervous?” She asked shrewdly. “I’m telling you, Dean. These little goalkickers are a-okay.” She patted her swollen stomach fondly. “Though I think you’re a fool for not wanting to know the sex of the monsters. I’d like to have something to call them other than Fred and George.”

“Right.”

Okay. Dean could handle this. In this dream-or-otherwise world, Charlie was his wife and pregnant with his babies. The shit has just hit the fan. That’s all. They were at the hospital because they were having a pregnant-lady doctor appointment. And they were having lunch. She wasn’t dressed as a doctor, and he can’t imagine a world where she’d make a very good one. Maybe she worked with computers in the hospital though. But, Charlie? What kind of screwed up world was this that something thought he’d want to be with Charlie?

“So are you gonna feed me, or what?” Charlie asked. “That was the deal.”

Dean made his way over to the line to get his burger and something healthy for Charlie and the babies she was carrying. His babies. Dean tried to slow his heart rate and ease the panic in his stomach. Because he could handle this. He just had to keep his cool until they got out of here. He mindlessly gave his order to the server, humming Metallica in his head to keep calm and running his finger over the design on his wedding ring.

The ring! Charlie wasn’t wearing one. His wife would be wearing a matching ring, wouldn’t she? It was a pretty distinct design; they’d probably had them made specially. He grabbed the food once it was ready and hightailed it back to Charlie to confirm his suspicion.

Charlie stared longingly at his burger as she began to dig into her salad. Yup. No ring. Not even a tan line like Dean had. But she was carrying his babies. He was pretty sure of that. Either this was really screwed up, or—

He hazarded a guess. “Thanks, Charlie.” He gestured to her stomach apologetically. “For, you know.”

“Are you kidding? For my two favorite people in the world? This is nothing. Plus no one deserves to be parents more than you two do.” She smiled beatifically. “Plus, the baby bump has done wonders for my dating life. The ladies love it.”

“Ew,” Dean grimaced, but inside he was flying. Charlie was a surrogate. They’d done a story like that on Dr. Sexy. Dean and his wife had trouble conceiving so they borrowed Charlie’s oven. Simple as that. So the hot doctor was still a possibility.

They made light conversation while they ate. Charlie worked at an internet company, most likely doing illegal hacking on the side even in this universe. Dean was apparently a fire fighter, and he felt a happy tinge of pride at that discovery. Maybe this world wasn’t too bad—apple pie life with a side of danger. Still saving people. That was good.

Once they’d finished up their meal, Charlie looked at her watch and proclaimed it time to get to her appointment. Dean guessed it was going to be just the two of them, then. He’d also learned from Charlie that he was on the first day of a two week break, though he was on call for any major fires. He sincerely hoped that there weren’t any of those. He didn’t want to be responsible for any fatalities caused by his incompetence, even only in his head. He followed Charlie through the hospital halls, gathering a few waves from occasional nurses and doctors. He smiled warmly at all of the greetings, starting to get into character and settle into this apparent dream life.

They checked in with the obstetrician’s office and sat in the waiting room, which was also filled with pregnant women. He wasn’t the only dad sitting anxiously by, so he made eye contact with one and smiled.

Charlie batted him playfully. “Hey, stop flirting. You’re a married man.”

Dean rolled his eyes and picked up one of the magazines and flipped through it while Charlie entered into a conversation with another pregnant lady.

“…works here in the hospital.” He caught the tail end of Charlie’s words. Yup. Hot doctor. He felt a little twinge of excitement at the thought of his imaginary wife. Maybe he was married to one of the Dr. Sexy doctors. Dr. Wang perhaps.

He was brought out of his reverie by the call of Charlie’s name. Alright. Time to play the doting daddy.

There were a lot of private things that Charlie had to undergo in the examination room. Dean tried his best to be unobtrusive, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind. They weighed her, and asked her about her eating habits and her bathroom habits, and a bunch more things that Dean wouldn’t have wanted to know even if that was his wife laying there with her legs spread. After what felt like an eternity, they were indicated to move into another room for the ultrasound. He’d get to see the babies, of which there were apparently two. Now, this was exciting. 

Even though this world was imaginary.

Crap. He was getting too involved.

The doctor came in and explained what they were doing, and she was just about to squeeze the cold blue gel on Charlie’s exposed stomach when the door creaked open.

Cas’s head peeked through the door to Dean’s great surprise.

What the hell was Cas doing here? Had he come to rescue them? Did that mean it really was angels causing this?

“I haven’t missed it,” he growled in his deep voice.

“Nope. Just in time,” Charlie responded happily, as he bounded quickly towards her.

“Sorry I’m late. I got stuck in a consult that got complicated,” he explained, putting his hands up defensively. Nope. Not real Cas. Well, Dean supposed that if Charlie fit into his dream world, then so did Cas.

Even though he wasn’t real Cas, Dean could recognize familiar mannerisms and facial expressions, even though the wrappings were a bit different. Cas was dressed in a pale blue button down tucked into charcoal dress slacks; his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows exposing muscular, sinewy forearms. No trenchcoat. An unfamiliar softness touched the familiar gestures, though, and his demeanor was less stiff and awkward, more human. Dean huffed, realizing that Cas probably was human in this world. He barely had time to register what that meant for his suspected dream world, when Cas sat down on the opposite side of Charlie. He took her right hand in his, and reached across her full stomach with his other to take Dean’s hand.

Dean looked down confusedly at the offered hand.

Oh. There was the matching ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work title from _The Tempest_ , IV.i.1887, by William Shakespeare.
> 
> Chapter title from _The Wizard of Oz_.


	2. Dr. Sexy, M.D.

Dean ignored the twisting feeling in his stomach as he took Cas’s offered hand, mostly to keep himself upright. Cas interlaced their fingers briefly before indicating to the doctor to go on with the ultrasound.

Cas. Cas?

His dream world had him married to Cas.

Why? How? And why did it feel less weird than thinking it was Charlie?

Well, of course they’d need a surrogate to have kids. Men couldn’t get pregnant. At least, not outside of bad Dr. Sexy fan fiction. Not that he’d read any.

Speaking of Dr. Sexy, Cas wore a name tag that spelled out “Dr. Novak.” Novak, Dean thought, wasn’t that Jimmy’s last name? Appropriate, I guess.

Wait. Did he just think of Cas as sexy?

Because whatever was going on in this world, back in his own world, Cas was Dean’s best friend in the world. And there was nothing funny going on back home. Nope, nothing, nada. No matter what all the other angels said, or the demons. They just misunderstood. Their friendship was simply deeper than most. And people didn’t get that. Angels didn’t get anything. Especially not Cas. Clueless Cas with his head tilted and that adorable frown on his face. That frown was not adorable! And the sparkle in Cas’s brilliant blue eyes as he stared across Charlie’s baby bump at Dean was not at all familiar.

Thank god the doctor did something, or Dean was going to scream or pass out.

An odd pulsing sound filled the room, as the doctor fiddled with some equipment. “Two strong heartbeats,” the doctor announced happily.

And then the screen was filled with strange blurry images that were apparently two fetuses. Wow. Dean was kind of overwhelmed. Imagined or not, those were his unborn kids.

Or Cas’s unborn kids.

Or both of their unborn kids. God this was confusing.

“Now, you still don’t want to know the sexes?” the doctor asked.

“Definitely not,” Cas growled.

“Well, I do,” Charlie huffed. “But it’s just my oven, not my buns.”

“We want it to be a surprise,” Cas breathed gently, making eye contact with Dean again and grabbing for his hand.

As Dean felt the warm palm against his, butterflies grew in his stomach. He pulled away suddenly.

“You’re going to have two kids at once, bucko,” Charlie laughed. “Isn’t that enough surprise for one day? I’d like to know what to call them other than Thing 1 and Thing 2.”

“Mary and Grace for two girls, Robert and Samuel for two boys, and Mary Grace and Robert Samuel for one of each,” Cas fixed her with a very familiar stare.

“No Charlene?”

Cas shrugged, and the gesture was somewhat foreign on him. Not in a bad way. Just unexpected, and very human. But he supposed that was how Cas would be if he’d been human all along. Kind of serious, kind of dorky, kind of awkward, but with humanity earned the old fashioned way. Great, now Dean was picturing Cas as a kid, and that meant picturing one of these babies looking the same. Big, luminous blue eyes, eyebrows knitted in a serious, concentrated frown, a mop of messy chocolate brown hair. Too cute.

Did he really just think that? Was this world somehow affecting him? Was he gay here? He needed to keep his wits about him if he was going to get himself and Sammy out of it, not let himself get into self-indulgent fantasies about domestic bliss with his best friend.

The appointment was soon over, and the three were saying their goodbyes, blurry images of the ultra sound clutched in each of their hands.

“You’re okay to drive, though?” Cas asked Charlie concernedly.

“Yup,” she answered, grinning. “I can still fit behind a steering wheel. Not for long, though.” She patted her swollen stomach ruefully.

Cas gave her a kiss on each cheek, and Dean followed with a half hug, avoiding the bump, and she was off with a Vulcan symbol instead of a wave. 

Great, now Dean was faced with Cas alone in the hallway. Well, they weren’t alone, but there wasn’t Charlie there to buffer any awkwardness.

“I have to get back, babe,” Cas growled, entering Dean’s personal space a bit more than usual. Dean supposed he didn’t get to complain in a world where he and Cas were married. Not that he complained back in his own world anymore.

“Are you going to work on Baby this afternoon?” Cas continued, grabbing at Dean’s hand and rubbing it gently with his own.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean blustered distractedly.

“Good,” Cas smiled gently. “You should enjoy your vacation, Dean. Your brother will be here in a few days with Jess and the boys, then Charlie will move in next month. And in three months….” His smile deepened. “Better relax while you can.”

Cas leaned in further and placed his other hand on Dean’s waist. Then his mouth closed over Dean’s firmly.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss either, though it was close-mouthed. It was deep and lasted a few seconds too long and there was passion behind it, and Dean was pretty certain that if he moved his mouth even a fraction, Cas would be kissing him the exact same way he had kissed Meg all those years ago.

Cas pulled away and let go of Dean’s hand. Dean stood there, stiff as a board in shock. That had been unexpected. Even in a world where they were a couple. Those soft, pillowy lips had touched his own. His hand moved to touch his mouth of its own accord.

Okay, that was more than he could handle.

Cas just stared at him as he did, a fond expression softening his features. Nope, that wasn’t familiar either. “I love you,” he whispered, and was off, making his way through the halls of the hospital, looking every inch the badass angel he was in the real world.

Dean’s knees practically gave way and he leaned against the wall. His hand moved by itself to his pocket for the phone when he remembered phones weren’t usually allowed in hospitals. Somewhere out there, his beloved ’67 Impala was parked and he was going to find her, then he was going to call Sam and figure out how to get out of here before Cas came home and kissed him like that again.

After 45 minutes of searching, Dean was safely seated in his car and the world seemed just a little less scary. He quickly dialed Sam again and let relief spread over himself at his little brother’s voice.

“I work for a Congressman, Dean,” Sam announced proudly. “I help draft law, not just practice it. And Jess is getting her masters at Georgetown. Kevin’s here, too. He’s alive and an intern. I practically made him jump as high as the ceiling when I went to hug him. And mom and dad are both alive. I had an email from mom with a corny joke in it.”

Dean’s heart made another little leap. If this was a djinn, and all signs indicated that it was, then it certainly was a different world it had created for him than all those years prior when his mother’s life was the main point of the fantasy, not a happenstance.

“Yeah?” he asked, feigning casualness. “Cas and Charlie are in my world, too. My part of the world. You know what I mean,” he stuttered.

“What’s your dream life like this time?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I’m a firefighter, and I’m married,” Dean started, with no idea how to finish it. He could not bear Sam’s endless teasing of ‘Destiel,” if he found out to whom Dean was married. “To a sexy doctor.” Did he just call Cas sexy again? “We’ve got twins on the way.”

“Dude, that’s awesome.”

“Hey, did you know you’re due to fly out here later this week?” Dean quickly changed the subject.

“I saw it on my smart phone calendar” Sam replied smugly.

“I was thinking you should probably fly out sooner. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“It’s just two days, Dean. It’ll be a lot easier if we just stick to the plans the Djinn has laid out for us.”

“Sure.”

They hung up and Dean pouted. Could their bodies even last two more days? This wasn’t real. Sam just wanted to pretend it was for a while so he could experience the life that had been stolen from him. Dean didn’t have any attachment to his dream life, however. This wasn’t something he had fantasized about. Married to Cas. That was some bizarre, cruel joke a djinn was playing on him. Dean did not have those sorts of feelings about Castiel. He did not have them at all. If it had been Lisa and Ben fit into the dream world, that would have been one thing. That was his great attempt at the apple pie life. 

But he hadn’t been in love with Lisa, he thought sadly. He had loved her, sure, and he had been attracted to her, of course, but that spark had been missing. He’d tried so hard and done so much, but it had been so easy to walk away and resume the hunter’s life with Sam. The only twinge of regret he had felt letting Cas erase their memories was that he had had to let go of any dream of a normal life. It hadn’t suited him anyway.

So where had this come from, then? Had whatever djinn that conjured this world misinterpreted his desires? That was really the only explanation. Dean’s relationship with Cas was deep and long lasting, and his importance was only second to Sammy. They were family. And, yeah, if he really thought about it, one of his strongest unspoken desires was to have Cas stay and not run off every five minutes on Angel business. But not like this. Never like this. Dean Winchester did not have any romantic feelings for Castiel, whether he be Angel of the Lord or Dr. Novak. This was all some great misunderstanding, and if he wasn’t so damn self-conscious, he’d tell Sam and Cas all about it when he got home and they’d laugh and laugh over a couple of beers. But he really didn’t want to tell them about it.

He could kill himself. Wasn’t that how he got out the last time? Unless it was like the one Charlie and he came across? That one fed off of fears, and they’d had to face their fears inside of the dream world.

No. No. No. That was even worse. Because if this was a world based off his fears rather than his misinterpreted desires, then his biggest fear was being gay for Cas.

That was not even a possibility. 

While the cause of his predicament was unclear, he was pretty sure it was real Sam trapped with him, not just a facsimile of him, and Dean wasn’t about to trap his little brother alone in this fantasy. They’d meet up, off themselves together, go back to the real world, gank the djinn, call Cas, then go about their lives.

No, they would not call Cas. There was no reason to call Cas. He’d just have to get his fill of sexy Dr. Cas over the next two days.

Dammit. Did he just call Cas sexy again? This world was really starting to get to him.


	3. Home is Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes back to his dream world apartment and learns more about his life there.

It had been relatively easy for Dean to figure out his address and get home. He had a smart phone in this world, and his home was already saved as a location. He’d merely had to set his start point as his current location and his end point at “Home” and navigate an unfamiliar city in a car that was probably too big for city driving.

He’d arrived at a nice high rise apartment building about 15 minutes later. Figuring out the apartment number had been a little tricky, but after trying the mail key he found on his key ring in every mail box in the lobby, he’d found the one it fit. He grabbed the mail in it, figuring he might as well take it up, checked the apartment number, and took the elevator to the sixth floor.

Their apartment was gorgeous. It had a view of the lake from the living room and was furnished in sleek, contemporary furniture, a far cry from the Men of Letters bunker and the crappy motels they usually stayed in. There were three bedrooms, the master with an en suite bathroom that had a huge shower that could easily fit two people, a fact which Dean pointedly chose not to focus on, a guest bedroom decorated in soothing blues and greens, and a converted office with a rollaway parked in one corner. The kitchen was sleek but homey, with high end appliances and a refrigerator with one of those tablets imbedded in the front. Dean scrolled through the contents, finding a collection of his mother’s recipes, a few downloaded cookbooks, a shopping list, and a playlist labeled “Dean’s Awesome Cooking Playlist.” He shrugged and started the music, hearing the sweet sounds of Zeppelin fill the room. The contents of the fridge were plentiful, though skewing a bit too healthy for Dean’s taste. He supposed Cas being a doctor meant a bit more healthy eating than either indulged in back in the real world. After all, Cas was the guy who once downed a couple hundred hamburgers under famine’s influence. There was a package of ground beef tucked away, however, so Dean could manage to make something passable for dinner.

All around the apartment were pictures of him and Cas, often with other friends and family. There was one framed above the mantle that was clearly from their wedding. The two of them were looking quite dapper in tuxes, surrounded by a bunch of familiar faces. There were Sam and Jess, a toddler in his arms and she with a round belly that must have been kid number two, next to them were John and Mary, alive and well and beaming, and, on the far side of John, Bobby was clean-shaven and grinning. On the other side near Cas were Anna, Balthazar, Alfie, and Gabriel, a few faces he didn’t recognize that he supposed must be other Angels, Charlie, and a second Cas.

Dean did a double take. “Jimmy,” he whispered. He looked like Cas, but he didn’t look like Cas at the same time. He wore his hair flatter and he lacked the intensity of the Angel who usually wore his face. His arm was around a blond woman Dean recognized as Amelia Novak, and between them was a young teenage Claire, older than when they had first met her, but younger than she had been when they found her late last year.

This was a pretty thoughtful djinn to give Jimmy back his life and his family when it didn’t matter anyway as they were all illusions. Cas and Jimmy must be identical twins, then. Weird, but sure, why not. If this was a world where Dean and Cas were happily gay married, then this was a world where Jimmy Novak and Castiel Novak were identical twins.

Dean made his way back to the bedroom and took a look at the bed he and Cas must share. There were nightstands on either side, and he regretfully opened the drawer on the right (left if he were lying in bed) only to find several bottles of lube. Okay, not gonna think about that. The other side was much less mortifying, containing an ipod with all of Dean’s favorite music and a set of really nice headphones, a couple well-read paperbacks, and a box of wet wipes. Oh wait, no, the wet wipes were for…yup, still mortifying.

He examined the bookshelves, finding everything from medical textbooks to a carefully labeled box that read “Dean’s Porn Collection. Don’t you dare throw this out, you smug bastard.” Dean suppressed a laugh at that, and opened the box only to find several issues of “Busty Asian Beauties” including the same vintage copy he’d found in the bunker.

“Not gay,” he breathed, relief overtaking him. “Okay, kinda gay,” he corrected himself as he found several gay porn magazines underneath them.

He did not flip through the gay porn. He did not get a little turned on by it either.

Setting the box back on the shelf, he came across a wedding album. He settled himself onto his side of the bed (the wet wipe side, he noted) and made his way through it.

The album was filled with similar pictures to the one he’d found over the mantle: he and Cas beaming, smashing cake into each other’s faces, Dean’s parents on the dance floor with Bobby and Jody Mills, Sam and Jess dancing with their young son balanced between them, Charlie and her date seated at dinner, and a memorial table scattered with pictures of those who hadn’t made it, Dean could make out Jo and Benny’s photos alongside both grandfathers. 

He came across a newspaper clipping as well.

**“An Uncommon Wedding”**

**The first thing you’d notice about Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak is they are both uncommonly good looking. They are both blessed with high cheekbones and strong jaws, huge eyes and full lips, looking like they stepped off a movie screen. If ever there were a pair of poster boys ripe for a marriage equality campaign, they’d be the couple. And they are getting married, in a rather lavish party with a few hundred guests at Navy Pier here in Chicago, followed by a legal ceremony with their closest family and friends in an undisclosed state.**

**As advocates for marriage equality, they’d like you to know is that theirs is not a gay marriage, but simply a marriage. Mr. Winchester says “I’m your garden variety bisexual,” with a throaty laugh, meaning that he is attracted to both men and women, while Dr. Novak identifies as pansexual, which he explains as being an attraction to individuals rather than gender. They met in the Emergency room of a local hospital nearly four years ago when Winchester suffered injuries while on the job as a fire fighter, losing two colleagues in the same disaster.**

**“Then he dated my sister,” Novak states.**

**“Briefly,” his husband-to-be clarifies.**

**These two extraordinary men are not only breaking down stereotypes of marriage equality and sexuality, but images of masculinity as well. These two very not-straight men are about the manliest men you could find in Chicago. Dean Winchester is a fire fighter, risking his life to save lives and keep Chicagoans safe. He also can be found in his spare time at the shooting range, where he holds several records for accuracy and skill, or the boxing ring sparring with oldtimers, or working on his beloved muscle car, affectionately named Baby.**

**Dr. Novak is a pediatric surgeon at University of Chicago Medical Center (he met his husband- to-be while doing ER surgical rotation before taking on his specialty). He has worked for the humanitarian group Doctors without Borders, going into war torn areas to provide medical treatment. He is also proficient in several martial arts, including jujitsu, and has medaled in many competitions in the use of a short sword, called a Tanto.**

**So if you have any intent to boycott their marriage ceremony this Saturday, you may very well find yourself at the wrong end of two very attractive men who can kill you (and then save your life).**

Dean let all the new information process. Not gay, check. Badasses still, check. It could be worse. After all, there weren’t any especially kinky toys in the nightstand drawers: no anal beads or butt plugs—just enough lube to supply a gay porn website for a week. Which was fine. Dean had a bottle in his drawer at home in the bunker, and sometimes he used it to—

Not going there. 

The article went on to talk about their families, nothing out of the ordinary for Dean, of course, except that his parents were still alive to attend their wedding. It confirmed the angelic brethren of Cas as actual brothers and sister, along with Jimmy Novak. Apparently, Gabriel, Balthazar ( _how do they explain the accent, then?_ ), and Anna Milton were the half-siblings of Cas, Jimmy, and Samandriel/Alfie Novak. The angel names were courtesy of their angel-obsessed mother, with Jimmy and Samandriel’s nickname of Alfie being compromises with their father. Why Gabriel, though? Dean hated that douche even if he sacrificed himself to help stop the apocalypse. Maybe. Cas seemed to think he might still be alive. He might even be behind this. He was the odd man out, after all. Balthazar, Anna, Jimmy, and Alfie were all definitely dead in the real world, their deaths being, well, Cas’s fault. Balthazar killed for the sake of Cas’s ill-advised plan to eat purgatory, Anna because she went nuts after Cas let them take her back to heaven and torture her, Jimmy because Cas wore his meatsuit, and Alfie was the death Naomi succeeded in making Cas carry out.

Dean had a sudden flash to being on his knees in that crypt. Is that what this is about, then? _I need you._ Did the djinn get into his head and misunderstand what Dean had meant by that, thinking it meant something it so obviously didn’t? The intense need Dean felt for Cas—for his presence, his safety, his sanity—wasn’t out of the ordinary. Most people needed their friends. They had needed Kevin, and not just to translate the Angel tablet, after all.

Dean ignored the voice in the back of his head pointing out that it wasn’t the same thing. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon detailing Baby in the alley next to their apartment building. While he leaned up against her in the late afternoon sun, he received a text from Cas:

**Hey, babe. I got pulled into an emergency surgery. I won’t be home until late. Don’t wait up. Love you. <3**

With an evening freed up from anything weird about this whole marriage thing, Dean cooked himself dinner, wandered around the apartment exploring some more, and called his parents.

“How’s my gorgeous son-in-law?” Mary asked, the smile evident in her voice.

“Working late tonight,” Dean replied, trying not to sound freaked out by the phrase “son-in-law” used to describe Cas.

“And my grandbabies?”

“Growing healthy and perfect, Mom. I’ll send you a copy of the sonogram tonight.”

They spent the better part of an hour talking about life; Dean never wanted to get off the phone with her, a single tear building up in his eyes when it was time to say goodbye.

His parents seemed perfectly okay with his relationship. Apparently, his dad had been surprised when he came out at 19, but they’d made their peace. And they seemed to just love Cas.

Dean wiped away his tear, and showered, then settled into bed on the wet wipe side, listening to music until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Long I Stood There Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dean continues his exploration of the dream world, he can't seem to decide if he just wants to go with what's happening or run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and kind comments!

The next morning, Dean woke up very warm and very hard. There was a distinct presence against his back, hot breath on the nape of his neck, and a sinewy arm wrapped around his chest. He extricated himself from the embrace and started to climb out of bed, only to have the arm pull him back.

“That alarm is for me,” a deep voice growled, wrecked with sleep. “And if I can snooze it for ten more minutes, then you can cuddle for ten more minutes.” 

“Don’t you have to go put back together broken children?” Dean replied, giving in to the strong embrace pulling him back into bed.

“Yes, but it’s very difficult, and I missed you last night.” Cas mouthed against Dean’s shoulder as those strong hands moved down his chest heading alarmingly towards his morning wood.

He sat up again, tearing Cas’s hands from his body. “You sleep for ten more minutes. I’m going to pee, then make coffee.”

And not jerk off in the bathroom to thoughts of Cas curled around him.

Fifteen minutes later, Cas joined him in the kitchen, fully awake and dressed in a variation on the previous day’s outfit. Only this time he was in a pale pink shirt, navy dress slacks and blue tie the same color as his eyes (and the old tie Angel Cas used to wear). He smelled good, ocean-y and fresh, as he breached Dean’s personal space again and gave him one of those deep kisses full of barely contained passion.

Only this time, Dean made the terrible mistake of twitching his lips in response, and soon they were kissing in earnest. Lips and tongues moving in tandem, hands gently stroking cheekbones, moving in hair, running over muscular backs, and, yeah, those were Cas’s hands on his ass. But, in truth, it didn’t feel especially weird that it was Cas kissing him like this, or even that it was a dude kissing him because Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t been kissed like this in years. He had never been kissed like this. On a purely intellectual level, this was one hot kiss and anyone with a pair of lips would have returned it. Dean suddenly was extremely grateful for refractory periods.

Cas placed a few soft kisses over his lips before pulling away and staring at Dean through thick dark lashes. The expression on his face was certainly one Dean had never seen before—uh, lust.

Which was very evident in his husky voice as he answered Dean’s breakfast offer with a throaty “I’ve got time for more than breakfast.”

Because, yeah, Cas was trying to seduce him. And it wasn’t making Dean crack up like he might have expected. He wasn’t exactly running for the bedroom, either, but he was swiftly very aware of the distance between himself and Cas’s kiss swollen lips.

“What about the children?” he asked, a crooked smile twisting his own lips. He moved away from Cas as casually as he could manage and headed for the refrigerator where he hoped to find eggs and bacon. Eh, prepackaged egg whites and turkey bacon. Close enough.

Cas’s eyes remained on Dean as he fried up the bacon and scrambled the egg whites, and, while Cas’s habit of staring was a constant in Dean’s real life, the quality of this scrutiny was undoubtedly different. Dean was never more desperate for Sam’s arrival, so much so, that Dean made the decision then and there to spend the day doing research.

“Are you okay, babe?” Cas’s lascivious expression faded to one of concern, while they sat opposite each other at the table.

“Sure,” Dean shrugged. He was just trapped in a dream world where his real life best friend’s tongue was in his mouth as a matter of course. No big deal.

“Elijah and Rebecca mentioned you passed out in the cafeteria yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t a big deal, Cas.” He put a bite of egg in his mouth. It was useless. Nothing good-for-you was ever going to taste good.

“Healthy men don’t pass out for no reason, Dean. You should let me examine you.”

“You just want to get your hands on my ass again.” Cas shot him a very Cas look, like the real Cas gives when Dean says something suggestive. “Look, man, I freaked out when Charlie was running late and I couldn’t reach her. I started to hyperventilate.”

“They said—” Cas began.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I lied. I do that,” Dean countered.

“But never to me.”

Dean turned back to his plate of disappointing breakfast food, flustered and reddening in the face. That was true at least.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. Dean would have been grateful for the respite, but Cas’s eyes never left his face. Even as Dean moved the soiled dishes to the sink and Cas nursed a third cup of black coffee, his intense gaze remained on Dean’s form.

Then Dean was pinned against the counter near the sink by Cas. Man, even without his angel strength the dude was strong. Those soft lips were on his once again, claiming him, and Dean’s world was filled with the scent of Cas, like ozone or the ocean after a hurricane. It was a much briefer kiss than before, and Dean did his best not to return the passion this time, though it was difficult not to lick into that hot mouth. Even more than that, though, Dean was struck by the hard press of Cas’s hips against his, remaining there even as Cas’s lips pulled away.

“I can’t wait to get home and fuck you into the mattress,” he whispered into Dean’s ear before leaving him and briskly walking away.

Dean heard the door slam shut a minute later. A minute he was left struck dumb, where Cas had left him, mind not working, groin working a bit too well.

Research. Research. Dean told himself, desperately. There was no time to wait for Sam to get to fake-Chicago. Dean had to confirm the djinn, confirm how to get out of the fantasy, and get out of the fantasy before he was stuck faking a headache.

* * *

The library had absolutely nothing to help. There was nothing outside of 1001 Arabian Nights about djinn. Dean longed for the library of the Men of Letters bunker and the endless information to be found there. He stepped out into the warm Spring day and dialed Sam again.

“Hey, Sammy,” he began. “I think we shouldn’t even bother to meet up. Just off ourselves now and get it over with.”

“Dean, are we even certain it is a djinn?”

“Hey, man, yesterday you were all ‘it’s a djinn, Dean, it’s obviously a djinn.”

“But if it’s not and we kill ourselves in the dream world, we may die in the real world,” Sam argued.

“I’ve been researching all day and I’ve got nothing.”

“You’ve been researching?” The mirth was audible in Sam’s voice.

"Yeah. I don’t think this is a world based on my innermost desires, man. I’d like to get out of here before things get weird.”

“Well, see, that points to the type of djinn you faced with Charlie. And to defeat that one, you had to face your deepest fears. So, what’s your deepest fear?”

_That he really wanted Cas to make good on his offer that night._

“No idea. That I’ll get the Mark of Cain back and go dark side again, I guess.”

“And does your world reflect that?”

Dean pulled his right sleeve up and checked the spot where the mark had been. Clean, unblemished—except for a few freckles—skin was all he could find. “No dice, Sammy. It hasn’t even come up. What about you?”

Sam hesitated a moment, his breath slow and steady, despite the question he was pondering. “Not being master of my own mind and body,” he answered quietly.

Dean felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach at that statement, knowing how he was partially responsible for that fear. “Has that been addressed in your part of the world, yet?”

“No, my world is…” he trailed off dreamily. “My world is everything I could have wished for.”

_Well that’s just great for Sammy,_ Dean thought bitterly. He didn’t have not-so-awkward, hot, human Cas with his lips, and his hands, and his hips pressed up against Dean’s, and his whispered promises of exactly how hard he was going to thrust into Dean that night. And Dean was definitely not remembering crazy Cas, covered in bees, dripping in sweet smelling honey, dick hard and thick, and he was also not remembering how desperately he’d wanted to find someplace private once Cas had caught whiff of a bee colony in distress in California and zapped away and fantasize about that dick while his lubed up fingers—

_That did not happen._

That totally happened.

And now Sammy was practically shouting into the phone to get his attention, and Dean realized he was half hard and leaning against a weathered brick building in an imaginary version of Chicago.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean began, well aware that his voice sounded deeper and throatier than usual. He coughed to clear it and continued, “Could this whole world be your deepest desires then, and I’m just sort of caught up in them?”

“Is a djinn even powerful enough to do that?” Sammy asked. “And I’m not the one with the doctor thing, or the firefighter thing. What’s so disturbing that you’re afraid you secretly want it, anyway?”

Cas.

“You’re right, Sammy,” Dean spat into the phone. “This world is everything I ever wanted. I’m so fucking happy that I probably never want to leave.” He breathed heavily for a moment, letting the panic pass. “Enough with the feelings, Samantha. Come today, come tomorrow, I don’t care, we’ll have to get out of here one way or another.”

Sam hissed into the phone and hung up.

Finally. That was as useless as the library had been. There were bound to be some good parts of this world. He scrolled through the phone in his hand, desperately searching for somewhere to go, something to do that wasn’t six feet tall with searing blue eyes. 

* * *

“What the hell are you doing here?” a gruff voice greeted him not without a tinge of pleasure.

“Bobby!” Dean cried out, happily. He embraced the older man warmly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation, ya idjit?”

“Cas is at work, Sammy’s not coming in till tomorrow; I’m—“

“Bored,” Bobby finished.

Dean glanced around the fire station; it looked like it came out of a TV show, fire pole and all. They walked from the garage, with its blazing red firetrucks parked, and its rows of gear along the walls, to the communal area where Dean could make out a kitchen through a doorway. The room itself was furnished comfortably with built in couches against the wall and a tv dominating the room. A pool table filled the other half, where several people were starting up a game. Dean could make out Jody, Garth, Lee Chambers, Ennis Ross, and a couple more people he’d normally recognize as hunters loitering around the room. Some of them nodded in acknowledgement of his presence, others came over and gave him awkward hugs. As justification of his coming over, Dean had grabbed the sonogram picture from the glove compartment where he had left it the previous day, and was showing off his unborn kids. 

Jody had eagerly grabbed the sonogram and was trying to determine the sex of the babies from the blurry image.

“Don’t spoil it for ‘em, Jody,” Bobby gruffly demanded.

“I still think it’s going to be a big enough surprise to see which one of you they each look like, that you might want the opportunity to pick a paint color.”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t listened to Cas’s speech on heteronormativity and gender neutrality. Anyway, they don’t care which one of them is the biological father of which baby, or either. Ain’t that right, boy?”

“That’s right,” Dean bluffed. “I want two little blue eyed boys, and Cas wants two little green eyed gender neutral babies.”

Jody and Bobby laughed good-naturedly at Dean’s little joke, but Dean’s mind was already elsewhere. This world was so weird, but here Bobby was alive and well, and his parents were alive and well, and Cas was human and wouldn’t flap away and _why did Dean think he wanted two kids that looked like Cas?_ Whatever argument could be made for this world being based on Dean’s deep seated desires, he’d honestly never considered Cas having kids. They’d be nephilim, which would be bizarre. Cas would probably call them abominations.

Though, he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about Claire staying with him and Cas and Sam in the bunker. Dean baking her pies, Sammy helping with her homework, while Cas scared off every would-be boyfriend in the state of Kansas. Though Claire had hated him, and Dean wasn’t sure he didn’t hate her too. It would have been nice to have someone to take care of, and, while he would have never let her become a hunter, she could have become a Woman of Letters like Charlie.

Dean let Bobby keep the sonogram picture, as he had Cas’s copy as well as a copy the doctor’s office had emailed him, and the Fire Chief stuck it up on a bulletin board with a note that read “Babies Winchester-Novak 1 and 2” in block lettering. He wandered away after that, promising to come back for dinner some night that he wasn’t going to be there for.

As he left through the garage again, the memorial to fallen firefighters caught his eye. Among unfamiliar faces with out of date hair styles, he found Jo and Benny’s photos. They’d died seven years previously when a second story collapsed underneath them, according to the caption. Dean could almost remember the smoke and the flames, and the immense pain as a piece of charred wood had pierced his abdomen. He was nearly certain he’d find a scar if he lifted up his shirt, even though he knew there’d been no evidence when he’d taken his shower that morning. That had been the day he met Cas, bleeding and broken and dying in a burning house. And Cas had rebuilt him, had saved him, and had grown to love him. 

_I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Raven," by Edgar Allen Poe.


	5. And Nights Bright Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives in to temptation.

Dean’s savior had come in another text message from Cas explaining that, yet again, he was called to do emergency surgery and would not be home until late.

If this was supposed to be Dean’s dream world, then why was Cas always away when he wanted him?

Needed him.

Crap. Neither. Dean neither wanted nor needed Cas in any capacity in this world. And the way he wanted and needed Cas in the real world was in a purely platonic way.

With Cas home late, Dean could go to bed early, and Cas would slip into bed after he was asleep, spoon against Dean’s back again, brush his lips against the back of Dean’s neck, wrap a strong arm around Dean’s chest, and rub his hard dick against Dean’s eager ass.

No. He would not do that last part. Cas would not do that last part because he would be exhausted by a hard— _no!_ —by a long day at work, and he would respect boundaries.

So Dean spent his day baking a pie. A pecan pie, which was, of course, his favorite kind of pie. 

He then ate several large slices of his delicious pie.

Because when one was in a dream world made of one’s deepest desires, one could indulge in delicious pie. When, in the real world, it was ill-advised to eat so much pie. Giving in to forbidden things was allowed in a dream world.

If Dean were responsible for every place his subconscious wandered while he was asleep, then he would be both a terrible person and very well-fucked. And while he often feared the former, the latter was, unfortunately, not true of late.

So, in this dream world, Dean could give in to some of those deepest desires that he wisely refrained from in the real world. Not that he refrained from pie in the real world. He let himself eat a piece every time the urge hit. Cherry pie, apple pie, rhubarb pie. But never three slices. That was indulgent. But that’s what the dream world was for. Indulging in those things he buried deep inside himself.

_Like Cas’s cock._

No, like eating so much pie it would normally make him sick.

It wouldn’t make him sick, though, because it was in his head. And it would always stay in his head; no one would ever know he ate all that pie. It was a secret.

Yes, a secret. Secret desires would still stay secret.

What was the difference between this and jerking off in the shower while thinking about Cas in the real world? That was not something he did or anything, just that Cas might have accidentally popped into his head at a key moment. Which was understandable. Dean was no more responsible for the things that randomly turned him on in the heat of the moment than he was for what he did in a secret dream world that only he would know about. Dean wouldn’t judge Sam for what he did with Jess while he was in his part of the dream world.

So Dean could eat all the pie he wanted while he was here.

* * *

While Dean fretted over whether or not he could indulge in the things he hadn’t been able to admit he wanted, Sam reveled in his dream world. He could fake his way through the law stuff, especially given the rate at which federal law moved. An entire day’s work could be fiddling with the wording of a single sentence in a 24 page document. It was still interesting work, and if it had been the real world, important work, and Sam enjoyed it.

At home, however, he more than enjoyed it. Jess was as beautiful as he remembered, and his mind had gracefully aged her the ten years he’d aged. The warmth with which she looked at him, her soft touches, even the sexy way she bit her bottom lip when she was nervous, these were the things that had been missing from his life all these years. 

And then there were the boys—two rambunctious, beautiful boys, who reminded him all too much of him and Dean. The older boy, John, was six years old and Sam had already learned he was a handful; John was stubborn and full of energy, clever and well-spoken. The younger boy was named Jacob and was upright and serious, a rule follower if Sam had ever seen one. They were made of the best parts of him and Jess, but he easily recognized Dean and their father in the boys as well. Sam couldn’t help but love them, despite the fact that they were virtual strangers to him.

Sam was pulled from his reverie by a voice at his office door. “Mr. Winchester,” an all-too-familiar voice said, “I have the photocopies you asked for.”

“Thanks, Kevin,” Sam smiled. The young man turned to leave, but Sam called, “Kevin, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“You’re still in school, right?”

“Yeah. I went on break last week. Finals were hell.”

Sam chuckled to himself. “And you came straight here to intern?”

“I’m going to be the first Asian-American President,” Kevin proclaimed proudly.

“I’m sure you are. How’s your mother?”

Kevin appeared surprised at the question, but smiled warmly. “She’s told everyone she knows about this internship.”

Sam’s heart warmed hearing about the happy lives of his friends. He could still see his hands killing Kevin when he closed his eyes on dark nights. He dismissed Kevin with a friendly wave and invited him out for drinks with the rest of his work friends that night. He’d get his fill of Kevin, too, while there was time. 

There were few surprises in Sam’s dream world, but he wondered what Dean’s held that had him so uptight. Clearly, Dean had not delved into his past to create the perfect life, as his wife was neither Lisa, nor Cassie, nor seemingly any one night stand. Sam felt for his brother, truly, as there had never been a happy enough time in his life that he’d want to revisit. When it came time to give up this dream world, it would be tough for Sam to give up Jess and their children, but Dean simply could not understand that. His dream world was something ephemeral, not a long wished for yearning.

Sam was almost jealous of Dean for the simplicity of whatever fantasy the djinn had created for him.

* * *

Dean took a shower. It was simply a shower, like anyone took after a day of baking pie or waxing a beloved car. Dean had no ulterior motives for his shower. None at all.

He settled onto his side of the memory foam mattress; there were a few paperbacks in the nightstand he could flip through before sleep caught up with him. He wondered how he could even dream when he was essentially already in a dream, but the previous night had been filled with all sorts of forbidden thoughts given who had been sleeping next to him.

None of the novels could hold Dean’s interest, however. He briefly considered jerking off, but in his current state of mind, that would be the worst thing he could do. The only thing his mind would fill in would be the very thing he was trying to avoid, and taking matters into his own hands would just be admitting defeat without even having what he wanted. It was like if he baked the pie that afternoon and hadn’t eaten half of it.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a sound at the front door. Crap. Was that Cas coming home? Wasn’t he supposed to be late?

Cas appeared surprised as he opened the door to their bedroom. “What are you doing in bed already?” he asked pointedly. The smug look on his face was definitely not a turn on.

“I wasn’t expecting you home until late, so I thought I’d hit the hay,” Dean replied.

“It is late.” Cas checked his watch. “Not late enough for you to want to sleep, but later than I usually get home.”

“Right. I’m on a weird schedule, man.”

“Mm hmm,” Cas hummed and closed the space between the door and the bed in a few quick strides. Once he reached Dean, he ran a long-fingered hand through Dean’s hair, pulling his head back to expose Dean’s mouth and neck to him. Dean didn’t resist as Cas placed a steamy kiss on his mouth. Cas pulled away slowly. “So, what do you want me to do to you?” he asked throatily.

“I…” Dean stuttered. “I’m not in the mood, Cas. I’m freshly showered and I don’t want to get sweaty and, uh, sticky.”

Cas took a step back, breaking all contact between the two men. “Okay,” he breathed, matter-of-factly. “I’ll just take a shower, too, then, and grab something to eat.”

“There’s pie,” Dean called after him, and he wasn’t watching Cas walk forcefully into their bathroom.

Dean did nothing but sit stiff as a board in his place on the bed while Cas showered. He tried to keep his mind empty even as thoughts of Cas naked in the shower flitted intermittedly into his brain. The shower was apparently brisk, as the door to the bathroom opened far too soon for Dean’s sake.

Cas exited the bathroom in nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips. His lean, muscular torso was still damp from the shower, and smooth, tanned skin glistened in the dim light from Dean’s bedside lamp. His shoulders were broader than his trenchcoat ever let on, and long sleeves had also hidden well-defined biceps. It was all more than Dean’s dick could handle and it twitched with obvious interest. The object of its attention crossed the room to the dresser under the window and retrieved a pair of pajama pants. He kept his well muscled back to Dean and dropped the fucking towel.

Little Dean (well, Dean was proud enough that it wasn’t so little) didn’t stand a chance. Cas had the best ass Dean had ever seen, round and firm and perfectly formed. Dean’s hard cock was tenting the sheet and there was no chance of hiding it. Still, Cas may have smirked while he slipped into bed next to Dean, having pulled on the pajama bottoms and no shirt, but he made no move to help Dean get rid of his not-so-little problem.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he smiled, his hair wet from his shower and tousled like it had been when he first came to earth.

“Cas,” Dean heard his own voice utter, deeper and rougher than usual.

“If you’re not in the mood, babe,” Cas scoffed.

“I don’t…I’m not…Blow me, Cas,” Dean said before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Did he just?

Oh yeah, he did, because Cas was pulling off Dean’s t shirt and then his hot mouth was on Dean’s. He pulled down the sheet, exposing Dean’s erection to a blast of cool air through his damp pajamas, and kneeled, one knee between Dean’s legs, hovering over Dean’s body. Cas kissed under Dean’s ear, trailing his tongue over his neck and nipping at his collar bones. Once he reached Dean’s perky nipples, he flattened his tongue over one, and Dean arched into the contact. _Yeah, this was great; this wasn’t weird at all,_ he told himself, as Cas provided just the right amount of suction. That fantastic mouth moved its way down Dean’s stomach, probably leaving marks to remind Dean about his weakness the next day, and two warm hands gently tugged at Dean’s waistband. This was the point of no return, and Dean could have just stopped the hands and mouth and pretended the whole thing never happened. He was a little surprised, to be honest, to find zero interest in stopping the proceedings. However, this was nothing but a dream world, and Dean would be lying if he said he’d never dreamed about this before. This was better, though, as whatever powers this djinn had, he managed to make this world feel as real as life did. Dean could almost pretend this was the real Cas pulling his pajama pants down his legs and tossing them to the floor.

“Cas,” he murmured again, as Cas paused over the head of his cock, his warm breath stimulating in the cool room, and Dean ran his hands through Cas’s still damp hair. Cas glanced up at him, a small smile on his full lips; he then pressed a gentle kiss to the tip before opening his mouth and wrapping the head in those lips. His tongue circled the head as one of his hands moved to stroke Dean’s shaft. Then it was Cas’s mouth moving down the shaft, too, tongue flicking against the frenulum on the upstroke, causing Dean to utter things he was pretty sure weren’t even English and grip the sheets until his fingers hurt. Things were progressing very well for Dean until Cas removed his mouth with a soft popping sound.

“No, no, no—” Dean swallowed his protestations with a breathy moan as Cas mouthed at Dean’s balls. One hand remained gently stroking Dean’s shaft, keeping things moving in the right direction, but the backing off of pressure removed the feeling of imminent orgasm. Cas’s other hand gently separated Dean’s legs further, allowing him full access to lick and tease against his sac. Dean, then felt his nose nudge against it, which he thought was weird, until he realized it was because Cas’s mouth had moved to brush against Dean’s perineum, caressing and kissing the sensitive tissue as it moved downward.

“Fuck,” Dean exclaimed, half out of surprise and half out of pleasure, as a long, firm tongue circled his rim. He would be grateful later that his brain had all but shut off because any doubt about this new direction would have clouded the flicker of pure ecstasy Dean felt at the press of Cas’s tongue inside. It moved gently, pushing in further with each delicious flick, until Dean was a whimpering mess. Cas increased the pressure and speed, and Dean pushed back against every hard thrust of Cas’s tongue, wanting more—needing more. A long, spit-coated finger joined the tongue working inside him, pushing deeper and giving him exactly what he needed.

He was so close, chasing something really fucking fantastic, but his cock was all but ignored by now. His hand moved by itself down to stroke at it, but then Cas’s hot mouth was on it again, so he grasped at Cas’s hair instead as he came in hot spurts into his best friend’s mouth. The orgasm ripped through Dean’s whole body, his relaxed hole fluttering around Cas’s finger, his ab muscles contracting in the same rhythm, his back arching off the bed, and Dean was certain the sounds out of his mouth weren’t human anymore. In that moment, he was made of nothing but pleasure.

Once Dean had regained some measure of control over his body again, he grabbed Cas by the shoulder and yanked him up, smashing their mouths together. He should have been exhausted after his mind-blowing orgasm, but he was still so turned on it gave him energy. Dean licked into Cas’s mouth, leading the kiss, needing more. He never had a thing about swallowing; he’d be happy enough if a woman went down on him that he didn’t care if he came in her mouth or into his own hand, and he certainly didn’t have a thing about the taste of cum, but, now, he couldn’t get enough of the fact that he could taste himself in Cas’s mouth. He wanted to taste more—he wanted to taste Cas.

The realization made Dean pull away from the kiss; Cas’s eyes were searching, pupils still wide with lust. Dean smiled coyly and moved to nibble at Cas’s sharp jawline until he reached his ear. Biting at the lobe, he whispered, “Your turn,” and the moan that came in reply could have made Dean come again.

Dean was far too eager to repeat the teasing treatment he’d received from Cas, and yanked Cas’s pajama pants down roughly and lowered his mouth onto Cas’s impossibly thick cock, taking him in as deep as he could. After all, Dean actually had experience doing this, just never with someone he was actually attracted to. The guys he blew in bar bathrooms and alleys for twenties tended to be deeply closeted rednecks or curious businessmen slumming. The money had been easier to come by ( _groan_ ) than poker games and pool hustling, but Dean had never exactly enjoyed the act (at least not that he’d ever admitted). But now, the feel of Cas’s hard cock, warm and firm against his tongue and pushing against his throat, was almost as hot as being on the receiving end had been. Cas’s hips bucked as Dean took him even deeper, so Dean steadied himself with his hands on the bed on either side of Cas and let the other man thrust into his mouth with abandon, hands twisted through Dean’s hair. As Cas fucked his mouth, Dean massaged his tongue against the sensitive underside of Cas’s cock. Glancing upward, Dean could make out Cas’s head tossed back, eyes shut and mouth open, as low groans escaped his perfect lips. He could feel Cas losing control, thrusting wildly and erratically, so Dean pulled back until just the head was inside and teased the slit with his tongue until hot, thick liquid rushed over it. He tried to take it all in, swallowing each burst as it gushed into his mouth, but some dripped onto his chin anyway. He licked Cas clean, though, as Cas had done him and pulled away, sitting up next to Cas.

Cas leaned in, but instead of kissing Dean, he flicked his long tongue against Dean’s chin, lapping up the cum that had dripped there. Dean accepted the tongue as it pushed into his mouth and sucked it clean, repeating the process until his chin was spotless and his taste for Cas satiated.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas whispered against Dean’s mouth, “I love you.” He shut off his bedside lamp, and settled comfortable against Dean’s side. Dean’s pajama bottoms were still on the floor where Cas had tossed them, but he pulled the sheet over his naked body and Cas’s half clothed one, and shut off his own lamp.

* * *

Dean couldn’t sleep. Despite the unbelievable orgasm he’d had less than an hour ago. To be honest, it was probably because of it. The person responsible for said orgasm was snoring quietly next to Dean, and back in the real world Dean called him his best friend. Here, though, Dean had let his unspoken desires take over. Hell, he was probably giving the djinn the fix of a lifetime. And now, to further break down the thin wall that had kept Dean from doing this sort of thing in the real world (well, other than Cas’s angel-ness and apparent lack of interest), Dean was watching Cas sleep. Of course, it wasn’t even the first time, as, despite the fact that Cas didn’t normally require sleep, every time he had, Dean had watched him. Even in Idaho, when Dean had let Cas spend the night in his hotel room upon learning that Cas was all but homeless, he had spent most of the night just watching Cas. The room had been a single, and Dean had woken up pressed against Cas’s side not too dissimilar from how they were now, hard as a rock. After having taken care of the problem in the shower, Dean had felt dirty pressing a couple hundred dollars into his friend’s hand before they drove to the Gas ‘n Sip and said goodbye. Like he was paying Cas for helping to get him off or something creepy like that. Which he wasn’t. He had just wanted to take care of Cas in the ways that Ezekiel—Gadreel—had stolen from him. If he had been able to stay in the bunker, Dean would have cooked for him, and taught him how to be human, let him experience pop culture the right way instead of having it all poured into his head by Metadouche, and Dean could have watched him sleep every night.

_No, that would have meant--_

Dean understood what Cas liked about it so much, though. In sleep, Cas was so beautiful—thick lashes splayed against high cheekbones, full lips parted, forehead smooth and worry free, his hair a mess against the pillow. Dean couldn’t help but card his fingers through that messy hair; after their…um…mutual blowjobs, it was never going to lie straight the next day anyway. 

Heh heh. _Straight._ They sailed past that a couple hours ago.

And now, still basking in the afterglow, that didn’t seem like it was such a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sonnet 43, by William Shakespeare.


	6. The Morning After is Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean manages to avoid a freak out and turns to a friend for advice.

The next morning was far less awkward than Dean had expected it to be. Cas, of course, acted like nothing was awry because nothing was for him. Dean, however, had anticipated feeling much less normal about what had happened, and much less okay with Cas reaching from behind him and stroking yet another morning wood. He would have thought he’d have a different reaction than rolling over and pulling Cas’s pajamas down again, rubbing their erections together, feeling Cas hard against him, placing his hand over Cas’s as they stroked in tandem, thrusting into their fists until they came within seconds of each other, stickiness pouring over their hands and stomachs.

Yeah, he hadn’t really expected to have had sex with Cas twice in less than 12 hours. Not like, penetrative sex. They hadn’t done that yet. They weren’t going to do that. Though Dean was certainly handling oral sex and whatever the double handjob was called—it started with an f and it wasn’t fucking. Unfortunately. They weren’t going to fuck, though. Especially since Cas had made it very clear that he usually topped. And, unspoken desires and all, Dean was pretty sure he couldn’t deal with that.

Because he’d been fighting that for years.

Anyone who knew where he was and what he was doing would have snickered when he told them that he didn’t have a gay panic when he met Cas. Yes, he was obviously attracted to Cas’s vessel, but that had been especially easy to ignore when the fear and curiosity of meeting the Angel warrior who had rescued you from hell was tying your stomach in knots. In fact, Dean hadn’t had to face the growing feelings he had for the angel until he met Jimmy Novak. Because, you see, Dean was not attracted to Jimmy at all. And even worse, he realized that it mattered to him what Cas looked like; the idea of Cas in a different body and Jimmy in his own body had made Dean uncomfortable and unhappy. It was just a hop, skip, and a jump to needing him in purgatory and getting so caught up in their reunion that he fucking nuzzled the guy, perhaps even leaving a hickey in his wake, and who knows what might have happened if Benny hadn’t returned when he did. Then there was the time in the crypt, something that Dean hated to think about. Beaten and on his knees, but his only thoughts had been for Cas to be Cas again and not for his own life. No wonder he ended up here.

Stuck in a dream world where he couldn’t even let himself admit that what he really wanted was Cas.

Cas was especially affectionate that morning, constantly pulling Dean close, kissing the side of his face, his neck, even his hands, distracting him as he tried to make another healthy, bland breakfast. This time Cas wanted spinach egg white omelettes, and Dean nearly choked on the bitter green.

“I want bacon. Real bacon,” he pouted, while Cas covered him with coffee flavored kisses.

“I might be willing to make a trade.”

“Mmm…” Dean breathed into his mouth as one of Cas’s kisses turned steamier. “Sexual favors for bacon; I can live with that.”

“Of course, if you ate a vegetable other than ketchup once in a while, you could be the one being…favored,” Cas teased smugly.

“Oh, I get it,” Dean laughed. “I eat spinach, I get bacon, and we keep our sex life out of the kitchen.”

Cas’s mouth dipped lower, sucking on the tender skin below Dean’s ear. “Or,” he mumbled against Dean’s ear, “you could hop on the counter and I could be late for work.”

Cas sounded so commanding and aroused that Dean didn’t think about it for a moment before he complied and let Cas settle in the space between his knees and continue his gentle suction against his neck. His hands slipped down to Dean’s fly, popped the button of his jeans, and slipped the zipper down, relieving the pressure on Dean’s groin and releasing a sound from Dean’s throat so high pitched he wondered whether they owned a cat. He wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist, angling his body so that Cas was grinding his erection against Dean’s denim covered hole.

“I want you, Dean. I need you,” he breathed.

_Yeah. Oh yeah. Yeah._

Crap. He was saying that out loud. Didn’t matter anyway because his phone was ringing and Cas was pulling away.

“Hey, Sammy,” he answered, dismayed at how hoarse his voice sounded. Between the immediate lust and last night’s deepthroating of Cas’s very large dick, he sounded wrecked.

“Are you going to pick us up at the airport this evening?” Sam groused.

Crap. Sam was arriving today. Real Sam. Real Sam was going to walk into Dean’s fake apartment and see his fake husband in the form of his real best friend.

“Of course,” Dean replied to his brother. Cas backed away, but Dean grabbed his hair and pulled him back, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you leaving?” he asked Cas. “Not you, Sammy,” he clarified into the phone, covering it with his hand so they could talk privately.

“We’ll pick this up later,” Cas conceded and left.

Hell yeah they would. If he could keep Sam away long enough.

“Sam, you can’t come to Chicago.”

“Wait,” Sam began, “Why can’t I take an imaginary plane to imaginary Chicago?”

“Whoever…whatever…is doing this to us clearly wants you to come here, so don’t. Instead, I’ll go to D.C. or wherever you are, tomorrow.”

“That makes no sense, Dean.”

“You make no sense,” Dean blustered in reply. “Fine. What time does your imaginary plane arrive?”

“5:00.”

Crap. That’s probably before Cas would come home. If he and Sam ganked themselves immediately, Dean wouldn’t have a chance to finish what he and Cas had started. However, if he took Sam back to the apartment, Sam would see Cas, put two and two together, and Dean would be mortified and unsatisfied. The only answer was to keep Sam distracted and in the dark long enough for Dean to have his fill, so to speak.

“I’ll be in the Impala at the curb.”

With that, Dean hung up and prepared the apartment for Sam’s arrival. Gone was every picture of him and Cas from the living room: at their wedding, shirtless on the beach, with friends at dinner. Every piece of mail lying on the entryway table stripped of its envelope and any mention of Cas, his engraved stationary at the desk in the office, even their wedding album in the bedroom and the second razor in the bathroom, all hidden in the back of their bedroom closet. 

Unironically.

* * *

After a thorough de-gaying of his apartment, Dean felt the intense need to talk to someone. Not about his feelings. No way. He had enough trouble dealing with his feelings inside his head to try and articulate them to someone else. The only person he ever talked “feelings” with was Cas and that was not gonna happen. Nope, what he needed was someone who understood his situation and wouldn’t judge him.

“Charlie, how did you realize you were gay?”

“Uh…” the redhead began. “I was attracted to women and not to men. Pretty much a no brainer. Though your hubby is delicious enough to be almost worth switching teams for.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean sighed and poked at the remains of his lunch.

“No judgement or anything, but isn’t it a little late to be going through a sexuality crisis? You’re married to the love of your life; what does it matter if you consider yourself gay or bi?”

So not the problem, but it would work. “Humor me, Charlie. After all, who taught you how to flirt with a man when you needed to?”

“Hmm?” Charlie met him with befuddled eyes.

“When we first met, I coached you through flirting with a security guard.” Guess that didn’t happen in this fake world.

“Right,” she smiled. “I’d forgotten.”

That was undeniably weird. Back to the more important subject. “Okay. Imagine I’m…uh…teenage me. I’m attracted to girls; I think I might be attracted to guys, too. How do I know?”

“You experiment?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Done that. Liked it.”

“Then I think you have your answer. Look, once I knew, I looked back at my life and realized even as a child, the crushes I had tended to be on other little girls, or female celebrities, I just hadn’t realized what it meant.”

Well, what little boy doesn’t have a bit of a crush on Batman? He was totally badass. Was that the first sign he had ignored? Dean let his mind wander to all the other times his sexuality should have been evident. He’d been in the midst of wrestling practice when it first happened, an attractive senior had him pinned to the mat, and little Dean had chosen that moment to make an appearance. Dean had thrown himself into his relationship with Robin after that, even losing his virginity to her, because if he was attracted to girls—and he was—he couldn’t possibly be gay. Any attraction to guys before that event had gone unnoticed, and most attractions to guys after that got swept under the rug. Dean had even started to challenge himself by staring at every reasonably attractive guy he saw, daring himself to be attracted to them. All that had ended up doing was allowing him to stare at attractive guys, so he’d go make out with whatever girl he ended up in a janitor’s closet with. He’d managed to avoid another gay crisis until Rhonda Hurley—she of the pink, satin panties—had stuck her finger up his ass while blowing him. He had come right then, and it was pretty fucking fantastic. Until he panicked and dumped her for crossing that line. After all, only gay guys liked their asses played with. The word bisexual wasn’t even a part of his vocabulary. Of course, in the years since, he’d learned from porn how far that was from the truth, and he’d felt a tinge of regret that his gay panic and the lack of privacy in shared motel rooms had kept him from such pleasure. But, honestly, in the intervening years, he hadn’t given any of it much thought.

He became so comfortable in his supposed heterosexuality, that even when he did totally gay things, they didn’t faze him. He never considered blowing strangers for money to have anything to do with his own sexuality. That hadn’t been about him at all; that was about making sure Sam had food to eat, new shoes when he inevitably outgrew his, and taking up the slack for when their dad was drunk or off hunting (or both). It had been business, not pleasure, driving that period in his life. He had never been that great at pool hustling anyway. He gave that up not long after Sam joined him hunting, the embarrassment of getting caught by his little brother being too much risk.

“But there’s no reason to define yourself if you don’t want to,” Charlie continued. “Hypothetical-you was never attracted to every single woman, right? It’s the same with men, then. You could have no other male relationship but Cas, or you could have worked your way through every fraternity on the West Coast, and you would still be you. Whatever label you choose on any given day wouldn’t change that.”

Charlie had a point, and Dean felt a surge of affection for his redheaded friend. Dean wasn’t defined by his sexuality, even if society felt he should be. Admitting he wanted to be with Cas didn’t change who he was; in fact, he’d probably feel freer to express the other things he repressed. This was a good thing.

Suddenly Charlie reached across the table and grabbed his hand, pulling it back and placing it on her stomach. “They’re kicking,” she proclaimed happily. And, definitely, Dean could feel a weird undulating pressure against his hand.

Crap. Somewhere in the deepest, darkest, most secret part of his mind, Dean thought he and Cas would make good parents. Dean, a mass of repression and daddy issues, and Cas, who could never stay in the same location for more than ten minutes, thought they could raise children together. Well, wasn’t that the most screwed up thing he ever imagined!

As he felt them turning and kicking in Charlie’s stomach, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for them. 

And for the life he had here.

Dean Winchester was in deep.


	7. Unexpected

The conversation with Charlie had done Dean a great favor; he felt much less stressed about the whole thing. Over-analyzing what he was doing with Dream-Cas wasn’t going to make it go away, and he didn’t want it to go away. Back in reality, Cas didn’t even have human emotions or a sex drive. It seemed like he had emotions—he’d get angry, act out of guilt, or be disappointed—but angels didn’t feel things the way humans did, even Cas. And yeah, even despite that, Dean knew Cas loved him, especially after he gave up an Angel army for Dean. However, that didn’t mean Cas was in love with him, disregarding Dean’s own apparent haziness in that arena. This was nothing more than a healthy fantasy life, and Dean could indulge in what was impossible back in the real world. 

After leaving Charlie, Dean had wandered the streets near the restaurant, lost in thought, which was as rare for him as admitting his feelings out loud. It was still a few hours before he had to pick up Sam and his dream-family at the airport, and he hated city driving enough to kill those hours outside of the apartment rather than drive back. Dean slipped through a narrow alley, spotting a small park on the other side where he could kill an hour or so. While he was hidden in the darkness between buildings, he spotted someone vaguely familiar swiftly passing through the park.

_Who was that guy?_

He was the very definition of nondescript: medium height, medium build, medium-brown hair, unmemorable face, wearing jeans and a blue button down shirt.

It was the outfit that triggered the memory. 

He had been in the hospital when Dean had woken up in this strange place. Was he a part of this and had Dean just let him walk away all those days ago? Hunter instincts kicked in and Dean trailed the stranger a few blocks until he ducked into a darkened bar. Dean followed as he passed through the bar onto a patio around the back.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean yelled as he grabbed the stranger and slammed him against the wall.

“Seriously, man,” the stranger yelped. “You stalk me and jump me and you want to know who I am?”

“Are you Gabriel?”

“Who’s Gabriel?” he asked, nonplussed.

“You think this is funny, sending me here?”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t act dumb,” Dean snarled. “I know you were at the hospital when I passed out.”

“The hospital,” the other man mumbled, then, recognition dawning on his face, straightened up and roared, “I work at the hospital, dumbass.”

Well, now Dean felt like an idiot. “So you don’t know who I am or why I’m here.”

“No,” the stranger replied pointedly, shoving Dean off himself and stomping back into the bar.

Dean had been certain the stranger had been a part of this, either Gabriel or the djinn responsible, but now he was confused. He’d believed him when he’d said he didn’t know Dean, and that made no sense. It was getting weirder by the minute here.

* * *

“Dean!” Sam shouted enthusiastically. He sounded relieved, and Dean wished he shared the sentiment. Sam’s arms were filled with several pieces of luggage as he exited the airport and headed towards Dean and the Impala. Behind him, a beautiful, buxom blond woman had a three year old boy with dirty blond hair balanced on her hip, while a six year old with darker hair held her hand.

“Hi, Uncle Dean,” the older boy mumbled, turning his face towards his mother.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean smiled back. “Jess,” he looked towards the mother. He’d only met her once; she looked older but still as beautiful. She blessed him with a quick peck on the cheek, and when he pulled away, Dean ruffled the hair of his younger nephew. “You have a beautiful family, Sammy.”

“I know,” Sam replied with a huge smile on his face.

They piled into the Impala, luggage and all, and Dean drove towards his and Cas’s apartment.

“Has anything weird happened?” Dean asked once they were on the road.

“Weirder than…?” Sam gestured towards the back seat where his wife and children were seated.

“Yeah,” Dean sputtered. “I ran into some guy today who I thought must be behind this, but he didn’t seem to have any more idea what was going on than I did.”

“Maybe he was another one of the djinn’s victims?” Sam countered.

“Wouldn’t he have said something about being trapped, too, or something? I don’t know, man, something unusual is going on here.”

“More unusual than a djinn?” Sam smirked.

“Never mind,” Dean huffed. 

About a half an hour later, they pulled up to his building and unloaded the family and their belongings. The younger boy, whom Sam had apparently named Jacob for no good reason, had fallen asleep on the road, while the older boy, John, kept trying to poke him awake before succumbing to sleep himself. Once they were in the apartment, Jess handed Jacob off to Dean before heading to the bathroom to freshen up while Dean and Sam set the sleeping boys onto the rollaway in the office.

“So,” Sam began once they had the door closed, “you want to do this now?” He crossed to the desk and grabbed a silver letter opener. Dean blanched when he realized it was engraved with his and Cas’s names and wedding date.

“No,” Dean sighed and took the letter opener from his brother. “I think we should wait till tomorrow.”

“Why?” Sam countered.

“I got a real weird vibe from that guy, today, Sammy.”

“And that’s all?” Sam smirked.

Dean rolled his eyes. Like Sam didn’t want more time with Jess and the boys. Like he wasn’t tempted by his own perfect life. 

Dean could hear Jessica exit the bathroom across the hall and return to the living room. Sam could obviously hear her, too, as his head followed her suspected path through the apartment. He felt a pang of sympathy for his little brother; when Dean returned home, Cas was still going to be there in some way. This was Sam’s only chance to ever see Jess again.

“Don’t you want to stay here, too?” Dean gestured to the sleeping boys. “It’s so easy for you to give all this up?”

“I know it’s not real, Dean,” Sam admitted sadly. “It would be great if it was, but this is an illusion.”

“Doesn’t it feel real, though,” Dean intoned. He regretted it immediately because Sam was looking at him sympathetically.

“Your wife is that hot, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Speaking of which, Cas would be home any minute, so Dean had to get Sam out of the apartment before he realized what was really going on.

“We’ll kill ourselves tomorrow,” Sam conceded. Dean’s heart soared. A little. Maybe it was indigestion.

They made their way back to the living room, where they found Jess sitting serenely on the sofa, flipping through a photography coffee table book. Across from her, the door to Dean’s bedroom was closed and the soft sound of running water could just be heard.

_Cas was already home._

Cas was already home and _in the shower._

Cas was already home and _naked_ in the shower.

It took every ounce of self control not to bound through that closed door and join him. His dick was pretty much already there.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean coughed, as he leaned against the back of the sofa, hiding his erection from his brother. “Why don’t you and the Mrs. take a walk down to the lake? I’ll, uh, take the two of you out to dinner after, while my better half watches the boys. Sound good?” he added, nodding eagerly.

He was so screwed.

Well, not yet. But, hopefully, soon.

Jess turned tenderly to her husband, “I’d like to see Buckingham Fountain, if that’s alright.”

Bless you, Jess, for being the least cock-blocking sister-in-law ever.

Dean didn’t even wait for them to leave before ducking into his bedroom and stripping off all his clothes. The bathroom was moist and a hot blast of steam billowed through the open door, as Dean stepped through it. Cas was standing in the glass enclosed shower, fantastic ass facing towards Dean, whose dick jerked in interest. Dean sprinted towards the shower, threw open the glass door and stepped inside before his resolve could fail. Once faced with a wet, naked Cas, however, any hesitation dissolved and Dean ran one hand over the smooth planes of his chest and stomach and one hand over the curve of his ass. _Damn._

“Hey, handsome,” Dean whispered into Cas’s neck.

“Dean.” He could hear the smile in Cas’s voice and feel it flex the muscles in his jaw.

Dean gave that ass a quick squeeze, then moved his hands slowly to caress Cas’s hip bones, pulling him closer, so his own erection pressed against one of the globes of Cas’s ass. Cas pushed back against him and bared his neck; Dean took the hint and began to suck on the tender skin. Grinding his cock against Cas, Dean ran the fingers of one hand through the soft curls at the base of Cas’s cock and circled it gently. 

Cas groaned, and Dean took his earlobe into his mouth, biting down softly. He was rewarded with another wordless groan. “Mmmm, you like that?” he asked breathlessly.

“Dean,” Cas repeated. If their positions in life had been reversed, Dean would have called it a prayer. He gently moved his hand up Cas’s shaft in hopes of hearing his name said so reverently again. He wasn’t disappointed. Dean was pretty sure he could come just from the sound of his repeated name.

Cas had different ideas, however, and spun around, grabbing Dean and throwing him against the wall. Then it was mouth on mouth, and tongue on tongue, and dick on dick. Cas’s eyes were brilliantly blue and filled with passion as they rubbed against each other. It was almost enough, especially as the new position let Dean grab Cas’s ass again. It could easily be enough. But Dean wanted more. With every ounce of restraint he had, he pushed Cas off him gently.

Cas’s eyebrows narrowed and his eyes squinted in that way that Dean did not find adorable or sexy.

“I just need more, babe,” Dean explained. On the shelf next to his head, among the bottles of shampoo and body wash, was a small bottle of waterproof lube. Thank deadbeat God for Dean’s sordid little mind popping that into existence. He handed the bottle to Cas.

“You want to fuck now?” Cas asked, his voice deeper and rougher than usual. “Here?”

“No,” Dean breathed. “Well, yeah, but not yet. Tonight. In our bed. Just…touch me. I want your fingers inside me.”

Cas’s eyes widened to their extreme opposite expression, as he took the proffered lube. He squeezed a generous portion onto his hands and fingers, wrapping one around Dean’s cock and circling the other to—

“Fuck!” Dean cried out as Cas’s lubed finger made gentle contact with his rim. The hand on his cock was barely moving, just enough to keep him hard, while Cas teased at his hole with the finger. It finally breached him and, if he hadn’t increased pressure on Dean’s cock at the same time, it might have hurt. The finger worked inside him, stretching and burning until another finger joined it. Cas curved his fingers and finally made contact with Dean’s prostate. His knees nearly gave way, and if he hadn’t had his arms around Cas’s neck, he would have had an embarrassing scene later with some EMTs, let alone Sam. 

Cas was hitting his prostate with frequency, milking it and moving his other hand in time with his ministrations. If the sounds Dean had let out the night before had been embarrassing, they were nothing compared to the whimpers and moans escaping his lips then. He could feel his balls contracting, tightness pooling in his gut; he was losing control of his body. 

And then it was over.

Dean couldn’t remember anything after the first wave of his orgasm. Judging by the amount of cum he could feel between their chests and stomachs, Cas had finished himself off after Dean. They were now standing even closer, Cas holding him up against the wall, running a hand through his hair, and mumbling soothing words into the side of his neck.

“You are so beautiful when you let go like that,” Cas smiled sweetly.

Dean could feel himself reddening at Cas’s words. “You mean when I black out?” he laughed.

“Are you feeling okay, now?” Cas asked, running his hand down Dean’s arm and feeling for his pulse at the wrist. “Your pulse has normalized. Maybe you should take some electrolytes.”

“Stop being so smug,” Dean grunted.

“I consider it a gift to be able to affect you like that, Dean. We both know you’ve had many partners, and to think that I can take you apart so thoroughly is utterly exhilarating. I barely needed to touch myself, after watching you come.” He gestured to his own crotch with his free hand.

Dean brought his hand up to caress Cas’s cheekbone. “Hey, I married you. I chose you. I will always choose you.”

“Over everyone but family.”

“Hey, you are family. And if you mean Sammy, then, yeah, I’d put his life over getting to be with you. But it would hurt me to be apart.”

Because it had. It had burned to the very depths of Dean’s soul when Gadreel had forced him to send Cas away. Maybe if he hadn’t, things wouldn’t be too different than they were in this djinn created fantasy. Dean had thought about it a lot, what it would have been like to have a human Cas living in the bunker, hunting with them, nowhere else to be, no heaven pulling him away.

Oh, yeah, the djinn got this world dead on.

They cleaned themselves up, waterproof lube proving a bitch to wash off, but Cas’s hands were soft as he worked Dean over, washing his hair and back with the same intensity with which he had gotten Dean off.

Once done, they dried themselves off and wrapped towels around their waists, Cas stealing kisses the entire time. Dean felt ecstatic, loved, beaming inside with a warmth he had never felt before in his life.

That is, until he noticed the door to their bedroom flung open and Sam standing there, inscrutable expression on his face.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, smirking.


	8. A Certain Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so overwhelmed and grateful for all the comments and kudos. You are all so kind; thank you so much. Special thanks to my phenomenal beta, Ionian24.

The djinn-created version of Chicago was incredible. Every detail was perfect and heightened just enough to be magical, but still in the realm of possibility. The water of Lake Michigan lapped against the shore in perfect rhythm, the sky was a brilliant blue, the fountain water dancing and twinkling in perfect early evening sunlight, a pale gold hue settling over the world, Jess’ hand warm in Sam’s. It was nearly flawless.

Of course it was all an illusion, but Sam could pretend the woman sitting next to him on a bench watching the fountain was real. Jess was everything he had remembered and more: brilliant, funny, beautiful, warm and loving, sexy, and wonderful. He didn’t really mind Dean’s request that they wait another day to escape the djinn world because it meant spending another day with this gorgeous recreation of the love of his life.

“We should probably walk back,” Jess sighed.

It was only a fifteen minute walk at an easy pace back to the apartment, Jess and Sam’s hands swinging between them.

“Do you think we should consider moving here?” Jess asked brightly.

“And leave my job?”

“That would be a pity, yes; your job _is_ fascinating,” she began, a sardonic laugh in her voice, “but our boys are about to have cousins and I’d love for them to grow up as closely as you and Dean are.”

Sam felt a twinge of unease in his stomach; he knew his job was as much a part of the illusion as Jess was, but he had no more interest in leaving it than he did in leaving her.

“Maybe they can all move to Maryland once the babies are born,” he countered.

“We can’t make their decisions for them,” she scolded, then smiled and turned towards him. “I can’t believe your brother is going to be a father.”

“He’ll be a good one,” Sam said proudly.

“They’ll both be great parents. Such good people.”

“Right,” Sam muttered. “His wife’s a doctor.”

“Whose wife?” Jess asked innocently.

“Dean’s wife. She’s a doctor.”

Jess laughed brightly. “Dean doesn’t have a wife, honey.”

“Of course he does,” Sam countered confusedly. “They’re probably having shower sex as we speak.”

Jess squinted in concern, all the mirth gone from her pretty face. “Are you using again, Sam? Dammit, you promised once you cut ties with that Ruby chick that this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

“What?!? No, no, of course not. I’m not on drugs. I’d never do that to you.” The air dropped out of Sam’s lungs. Of all the things to correspond to this world, his addiction to demon blood and his affair with Ruby were not what he would have asked for. He assumed it wasn’t widely known, otherwise he wouldn’t have his job on Capitol Hill. “Again,” he finished sadly.

“Good,” she muttered darkly.

“If Dean isn’t married, who’s pregnant?” They’d reached the block of Dean’s apartment building, which loomed halfway up the street.

“Charlie is pregnant, of course. And Dean _is_ married. Happily. Are you trying to be funny, Sam?”

Sam had never been more confused in the entirety of his life. If Dean was married, but didn’t have a wife, and had his lesbian best friend carrying his children, what the hell was going on?

Oh. _Oh._

“I am trying to be funny. I guess it’s not appropriate.” Or better saved for when he’s got Dean cornered.

The elevator to take them to the sixth floor was waiting when they entered the lobby, so Sam had little time to plan how best to tease his brother about this development. He was married to a guy, probably a certain cowboy boot wearing TV doctor.

“You should know better. Castiel takes that sort of thing very seriously.”

“Yeah, well, Cas doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, does he?” Sam countered without thinking. 

It was a good thing Jess was involved in a conversation with one of Dean’s neighbors, a kind looking elderly woman, when his mind finally caught up with what she had meant. He burst through the front door and into Dean’s room.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam uttered upon entering the room.

* * *

“Hello, Sam.” Cas responded casually. More casually than a half naked man should greet his interrupting brother-in-law. “It’s nice to see you; why are you in our bedroom?”

“I heard a noise,” Sam shrugged. Dean was going to kill him once they got out of here.

“It was probably your brother’s orgasm,” he replied nonchalantly. “I think I’ll shave before dinner.”

As Cas crossed into the bathroom, Sam made a gagging motion with his hand. “Shut up, Sammy,” Dean growled.

“You’re married to Cas,” Sam giggled. “Your deepest desire is to be married to Cas.”

“Hey, babe,” Cas called from the bathroom. “Have you seen my razor?”

Well, the box in the closet was useless now that Sam knew the truth. He retreated to his hiding space in the back of the closet and while he was there slipped into a pair of pants and a dress shirt. They may have been Cas’s clothes; they were virtually the same size anyway. He returned the stolen razor to Cas, did not give him a quick kiss, and turned to face his brother again.

“So is this going on in real life, too?” Sam asked maliciously.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Dean retorted. “Nothing is going on. Not here; not at home.”

“Yeah, so you were conserving water. You know, you both like the water pressure in the bunker showers.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up. Like Jess hasn’t reached over in the middle of the night for some hanky panky?!?”

Sam blushed, but didn’t let up on his teasing. “You’re comparing the late love of my life to your adolescent crush on the angel?”

Dean had always worried his feelings for said angel were obvious. Sam’s teasing last year at that ridiculous Supernatural musical had nearly proven it, but here he was nearly as oblivious as ever. It was not a crush.

It was so far from a crush that Dean could barely handle it on a daily basis. Being here was like finally being able to breathe. It was so fucking difficult to hide his feelings for Cas from Cas and Sam and the world at large. When Cas was adorable and clueless or terrifying and badass, when he was thoughtful and understanding, when he was beautiful and otherworldly, Dean felt his heart leap and sometimes he had to still his hands not to reach for Cas and kiss him silly, run his hands through his hair and over his cheekbones.

“We are not having this conversation anymore,” he growled and pushed his brother backwards into the living room.

“Is that a hickey?” Sam chuckled.

“Hi, honey. Why did you run off so quickly?” Jess had a beatific expression on her face

Sam shrugged.

“Well, I have terrific news. Mrs. Jackson next door has agreed to watch the boys tonight so all four of us can go to dinner!”

“Great!” Sam exclaimed. Dean rolled his eyes so far back into his head he could probably have seen his brain.

* * *

It was a nice restaurant. Back in the real world, Dean wouldn’t have stepped foot in a place like this, but here, they had called at the last minute and been welcomed with open arms and kisses on the cheeks from the owner. Apparently, they were regulars and had had their rehearsal dinner in the back room. They were seated at the best table and a complimentary bottle of wine was brought immediately. Even Sam looked impressed.

Cas was gorgeous, his cheeks tinted pink by the wine, his hair tousled just so. He had on a slim black suit that showed off the broadness of his shoulders and the lankiness of his limbs. Man, if Cas dressed like this in real life, Dean would never be able to keep his hands off him. As it was, he currently had his hand halfway up Cas’s thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“How’s Charlie,” Jess asked.

“She’s doing fine,” Dean answered. “I had lunch with her today. She’s making good use of that whole ‘eating for three’ thing.”

“What’s your excuse then, Dean?” Cas smirked. “You ate at least half that pie yesterday.”

Dean tilted his head back in laughter. “Yes I did, and it was worth the thirteen antacids I’ve had to take.”

The rest of the quartet at the table joined in on the laughter. That was interrupted by their server, who took their order by suggesting their regular and waiting for confirmation. Cas nodded politely for the both of them, which was kind of hot. It was exactly what Dean would have ordered if the choice had been in his hands. The server then turned to Sam and Jess for their orders, and the group was left alone at the table once more.

“How’s the lawsuit going?” Jess asked Cas, again being the source of conversation; though it was a weird question, since Sam was the lawyer.

“Hmmm?” Cas replied. 

“Your friend’s malpractice suit,” she clarified. “Gadfile or something.”

“Oh, Gadreel,” Cas finished. “I haven’t been called to testify yet. I might not be.”

Dean harrumphed at the mention of Gadreel.

“Yes, Dean” Cas turned to him. “I know you do not like Gadreel, but he is my friend. The mistake he made thankfully did not cost any lives and could have been made by any doctor on the tail end of a fourteen hour shift; he does not deserve to be persecuted endlessly for it. I will continue to support him, despite your dislike.”

Dean was kind of annoyed at Cas’s display of loyalty for that worthless liar, Gadreel, but he was also kind of turned on by his brief display of angelic righteousness. He was clearly staring agape at Cas because Sam chuckled, and said, “You are so whipped.”

“Shut up, Samantha.”

Thankfully, their server arrived with a complimentary appetizer, a plate of bread, a meatloaf, little pickles, and a small jar. Dean dug in immediately, following Cas’s example, spreading the ground meat on some bread and topping with pickles and mustard from the jar.

It was spectacular—rich, meaty, smooth, tangy—and Dean was making noises that brought a soft flush to Cas’s cheeks as he stared. 

“This is really good,” Dean muttered, a blush coloring his cheeks as well. He finished the appetizer in silence, stealing hot glances towards Cas after every delicious bite. 

Their entrees arrived not much later. Cas had ordered them both steaks and fries, and they came with a deep, meaty brown sauce and a creamy, herby sauce which Dean dipped his fries into. The rib-eye was tender and just bloody enough, and the fries were crispy and piled high between their plates. Sam had ordered some frou-frou salad that Dean generally associated with both French food and his brother, while Jess had a respectable chicken crepe.

“How did the boys do on the plane ride?” Cas asked, between bites of a fry that should have been Dean’s. 

“Terribly,” Sam laughed. It was hard to believe he wasn’t truly those boys’ father the way his eyes sparkled at their mention.

“They fought until Jake fell asleep. They’re at that age,” Jess offered. “You’ll be in the same position in a few years.”

Cas had a soft expression when he glanced at Dean, and grasped at his hand under the table. Dean interlaced their fingers.

Thirty minutes later, they were finishing up dessert and coffee. Dean and Cas had split a rustic fruit tart, ripe plums dripping juice over their lips. Dean hazarded a brief kiss to lick away the stickiness, only to pull away and see Sam smirking, which totally killed the mood. He took a sip of the thick, smoky coffee to regain his composure.

A jazz quartet began to play, and a few couples moved to the makeshift dance floor where some tables had been cleared away. Jess abandoned her chocolate mousse and pulled Sam towards it, leaving Dean and Cas blessedly alone.

Until Cas tried the same maneuver on him.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean pouted.

“Dean,” Cas pleaded, a stern look on his handsome face.

And then, somehow Dean ended up on the dance floor with Cas, with one of Cas’s arms tucked under Dean’s with that hand resting on his shoulder. Dean wrapped that arm around Cas’s neck and intertwined the fingers of their other hands. It was a comfortable dancing position, with Cas leading ever so subtly. Their faces were so close, their bodies even closer, and Dean could run his fingers through the wavy tufts of hair at the back of Cas’s neck. The closeness, the scent of Cas, the warmth of their bodies pressed together was beginning to get to Dean, and his dick started to fill.

“Can we please just get the fuck out of here?” Dean whispered desperately.

He could feel Cas chuckle warmly against his chest, then press his warm, soft lips against the hand he grasped.

“Your brother is watching us,” he whispered, throatily. Dean glanced back towards where Sam was smirking and making kissy faces when he should have been enjoying the company of his wife.

Dean should have cared more than he did. It was still pretty mortifying that Sam had walked in on them post spectacular shower sex. Great, now he was thinking about those strong fingers currently holding his hand and where they’d been and what they’d been doing just a few hours ago. That was definitely not helping the situation downstairs. Neither was Cas with the subtle shift of his hips, nor the smug, dominant expression on his face. So, Sam smirking was by far the least of Dean’s problems.

“I’ll go pay the bill,” Cas grinned lasciviously.

Dean tapped his brother on the shoulder.

“Do you want to cut in, Dean?” Sam grinned wickedly. “Because Jess will expect you to lead.”

“Very funny, Samsquatch,” Dean growled. “We’re ready to take off.”

“But I want to keep dancing,” Jess whined. She leaned against her husband drunkenly.

“Here are the keys to Cas’s car,” Dean said, trying to keep a smug smile from curving the corners of his mouth. Cas and I will take a cab.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow and shook his head disbelievingly. 

“Dance with your wife,” he admonished. “And don’t hurry home.”

Sam and Jess were still wrapped in each other on the dance floor, as Cas and Dean left the restaurant. Outside, the night was cool, and they walked past the small lot where Cas’s practical car was parked. No hideous pimp car for Cas in this world. Though Dean would have preferred to drive the Impala to dinner, it was too big for the small lot. There wasn’t a cab to be seen, however. The restaurant was located on a side street, so they crossed through an alley to a main street for better luck.

This was all taking far too long for Dean’s libido. Halfway through the alley, Dean slammed Cas into the wall, not minding any filth or graffiti. He brought their mouths together in an aggressive slam of teeth and tongue. He ground their crotches together, surprised at finding Cas already hard against his suit pants. He responded so easily to Dean that any doubts this was a world created of his deep-seated desires faded the moment they touched. This wasn’t a Cas who watched the pizza man in confusion, mistook a babysitting job for a date, or got seduced by a reaper and thought his angel blade was “protection.” This was a Cas who knew exactly where and how to touch Dean so that he flamed with arousal. And yet, even as this Cas flipped them around so that Dean’s back was against the wall instead, a tiny voice in the back of Dean’s mind objected. This Cas, who was available and interested, wasn’t really the one he wanted. He still remembered all those years ago when he promised Cas wouldn’t die a virgin. He had never made good on his promise and the chance had been taken away from him by that reaper. He was glad he ganked her; he’d have done it again if he had known first. 

Dean was pulled back to the moment by an increase in Cas’s pace. Yeah, Dean really didn’t care what version of Cas this was; he looked like Cas, felt like Cas, even smelled like Cas, and he was doing very dirty things. It was very nearly a dream come true. As Cas ground against him, biting at his neck, Dean stopped thinking all together. The friction was exquisite and Dean was seconds away from coming in his pants in a filthy alley. 

The click of a gun was such a familiar sound in Dean’s real life that it didn’t seem out of place when he heard it. It wasn’t until Cas stilled that he even realized anything was wrong. 

They were no longer alone in the alley, and the masked man who had joined them had a gun pointed at Cas’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Pride and Prejudice,_ chapter 3, by Jane Austen.


	9. Finding His Way By Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut happens.
> 
> Also, a jackass says mean things of a homophobic nature.

Dean wasn’t used to feeling panic, especially not with his angel at his side, but here they were vulnerable. Here Dean didn’t have a trunk full of weapons, and Cas didn’t have an angel blade up his sleeve. Here a random mugger with a gun posed a genuine threat.

“We’re busy,” Cas growled, apparently unperturbed by the gun at his back.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Their attacker gave a melodramatic shudder. “Disgusting couple of pansies.”

Okay, Dean was going to murder this bastard.

“Give me your wallets. Watches and jewelry, too.”

Cas’s face shifted imperceptibly, hardening briefly, then searching for acknowledgement from Dean. If it had been anyone else looking into that face, they wouldn’t have even noticed the change. Dean, however, considered himself an expert at Cas’s micro-expressions, and knew exactly what was going to go down.

Cas rotated his body towards the assailant, in a quick and decisive movement, bringing his arm around the other man’s gun arm and forcing it downward. Dean seized the opportunity and wrenched the gun from the twisted hand, as Cas took him down with an expert shot to the gut. Less than a minute after it began, the altercation was over; Dean stood over the prone figure of their would-be attacker, his own gun pointed at him.

“Was that masculine enough for you?” Cas growled.

“I should kill you on principle,” Dean added, smiling menacingly. “But, honestly, I would like nothing more than to get back to what we were doing before you interrupted. You just aren’t worth the mood killer.”

Dean unloaded the gun and tucked it into his waistband. The weight against his skin was familiar and only succeeded to remind him that this wasn’t the world he was from. Damn it if that didn’t hurt. He wanted this to be real. Wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

“Are we going to leave him here?” Cas asked gruffly as they exited the alley onto the main road.

Dean shrugged. “He isn’t worth our time.” There wasn’t much time left. Somewhere Dean’s and Sam’s bodies were in physical harm, and they were going to have to get back to them soon. Just the one night, then. Just like in Rexford. But this time, Dean wasn’t going to chicken out. If all he was ever going to have was this one night, he was going to make the most of it. So, he slipped his hand into Cas’s and hailed a cab.

* * *

They were never going to get the door open the way things were. Cas at Dean’s back, rubbing against him, one hand on his hip, the other in Dean’s mouth. Cas moaned against his neck as Dean sucked gently on the beautiful fingers, paying little attention to the keys in hand. The keys that were supposed to be opening their damned door so that they didn’t get kicked out by the homeowners’ association for lewd conduct in the hallway. Cas bit down and Dean dropped the keys, yelping against the fingers still in his mouth.

“I am not bending down to get those,” Dean laughed throatily, as he pulled Cas’s hand away.

Cas pulled back further. “I solemnly swear I will not fuck you in the hallway.” He had the most beautiful faux-serious look on his face, and Dean took that face in his hands and kissed him gently.

“You are such a dork.”

“Shhh…” Cas replied, eyes glowing. “Don’t tell my husband. He thinks I’m sexy.”

Dean laughed freely, the tension and overwhelming arousal tempered by humor. “A very sexy dork.”

He wrapped his arms around Cas’s neck and kissed him again, his lips soft, pliant and warm. And there was that overwhelming arousal again.

Once they finally opened the door, made their way through the living room, and into the privacy of their bedroom, things had slowed to a sensual pace. Dean removed his shirt and pants, grinning lasciviously when they both realized he had gone commando, and lay down on the bed. He gripped his erection and tugged on it a few times while maintaining eye contact with Cas.

“You are wearing far too many clothes, babe,” Dean breathed. “I want you naked and I want you inside me.”

_Crap, it felt good to admit that._

It felt even better to watch Cas slip out of his suit coat and loosen his tie. Dean was tempted to ask him to keep it on, a leftover of old fantasies, perhaps. It dropped to the floor, however, and Cas focused on undoing the buttons of his shirt. Dean’s dick twitched in anticipation with every taut, tan inch Cas exposed.

Speaking of inches, Cas unzipped his pants and pulled them down along with his underwear, exposing his thick cock. Stepping out of his discarded clothes, Cas sauntered over to the bed; Dean watched his cock bob up and down with the movement.

Once Cas got to the bed, the two men awkwardly tried to figure out positions, before Cas lay down on his side of the bed, facing Dean. His fingers delicately traced circles on Dean’s hip. 

“How do you want to do this?”

“Let’s not worry about that yet,” Dean replied shakily. “Just kiss me.” 

Cas complied; the kiss was slow and tender, but still full of that same barely contained passion that had kicked this whole thing off days earlier. The arm that wasn’t supporting his weight moved restlessly over Dean’s body, ghosting tantalizingly over his cock. He brushed his lips over Dean’s jaw, down to his neck, where he sucked and bit. Dean’s hips bucked up, making contact with Cas’s hand, just a second of glorious friction in his delirious sea of want. Cas’s mouth moved futher down, making contact with one of Dean’s hard nipples. Teeth and tongue worked one, while hot fingers circled the other.

A subdued commotion in the living room froze their progress. Sam and Jess had returned home; the altercation in the alley had delayed Dean and Cas. They weren’t making a lot of noise, probably because they had two sleeping boys with them. The sounds retreated as they presumably made their way towards the rooms on the far side of the apartment. 

Cas hesitated a moment until the sounds had died down completely before he heaved himself over and covered Dean’s body with his own. His mouth returned to Dean’s, his tongue teasing and desperate. Dean took the opportunity to touch Cas in return, running his hands down the muscular back and gripping the firm ass, pulling Cas’s groin towards his. Cas complied with the silent request and ground his cock against Dean’s.

As heat pooled in Dean’s belly, he gasped, “Too much, too much.”

Cas eased off, panting heavily. “Turn over,” he demanded.

Dean rolled on to his stomach. Cas’s hands wandered over Dean’s back and ass, spreading his cheeks slightly. Dean spread his legs in reply. “Do you—do you want me to use my tongue?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I liked that.” 

_A lot._

Cas chuckled against one of Dean’s ass cheeks before kissing it. He brushed closer to Dean’s hole and flicked his tongue gently against it. Dean’s body tensed at the contact. Cas’s tongue breached the ring of muscle and pressed inside. Fuck, it felt good. Really good. So good that Dean couldn’t help but think of other things he wanted inside him. He tensed up again. Cas’s cock was a lot bigger than his tongue.

_Understatement._

Cas pulled away. “You do like that.”

“Hell yeah, now get back there.”

Cas hesitated a moment longer, and Dean could hear the sound of a drawer. He returned quickly enough and his tongue returned to its ministrations. He licked, sucked, and pushed his tongue in deeply. A finger joined that talented tongue, soon replacing it altogether. There was pressure, but no pain, as a second lubed finger joined the first. Cas moved them, alternating between scissoring motions and gentle thrusts. This was the first time they had done this for the purpose of opening him up. It was a weird feeling, being stretched, but when Cas’s fingers plunged in deeply and brushed against his prostrate, he felt nothing but pleasure. He could come just from this, Cas’s fingers inside him and the memory foam against his cock as he thrust back onto Cas’s hand. Cas added another finger and continued scissoring.

Dean turned his head to glance at Cas; as focused as he was on his task, with that intense expression Dean knew so well, his breathing was ragged and a faint sheen of sweat glistened in the dim light. He moved his other hand to his own cock and gave it a few strokes; his needy moans only furthered Dean’s arousal.

“Now, Cas,” he muttered. “Please.”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was rough and deep from desire. “I haven’t finished prepping—”

“Don’t care,” Dean countered. “It’ll fit. I don’t mind a bit of pain. Just, I need you.”

The phrase seemed to trigger something in Cas, and he gently rolled Dean onto his back again. He grabbed the lube and slicked himself up, wiped his hand on the sheets, and positioned himself between Dean’s legs.

Dean gulped. The scared, overwhelmed part of him wanted to stop things right there; the desperate, horny, and longing part of him was not about to let that happen. This was what he wanted. What he had wanted for years. There was nothing in this djinn world keeping them apart—no angelic civil wars, no Mark of Cain, no Leviathan ooze—and in just moments, there would literally be nothing keeping them apart.

Cas hoisted one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder; Dean shifted his body in response so that the majority of their weight was on his other side. The head of Cas’s cock pressed against Dean’s hole, and Dean panicked. His body tensed up again, and Cas backed off. His hands caressed Dean’s sides soothingly before one hand slipped down.

“Shhh…” Cas whispered. “I’ve got you. I love you.” He pressed his forehead against Dean’s and his fingers teased at Dean’s hole, easing it open again. Dean relaxed into the gentle touch; he could feel Cas’s breath against his own mouth. Soon, Cas’s fingers had stopped their motion and his hand moved up Dean’s back to rest on his neck. Fuck, they were so close.

Cas’s cock brushed against his hole again; this time Dean let it press in and breach the relaxed muscle. The thick head entered him slowly. Oh, it burned. Dean’s breath quickened, and he struggled to stay relaxed. He had squeezed his eyes closed, but opened them to see the euphoric expression on Cas’s face. 

“Dean,” he exhaled, and that relaxed Dean immediately. It was so easy to imagine this was really Cas, overwhelmed by new sensations and desperate love for Dean. Cas’s cockhead was fully sheathed in Dean, the pressure lessened, and all he could feel was the pleasure. Cas continued pushing in, every inch burning as it filled Dean up, until he bottomed out. Dean had never felt anything like it; it was so different from fingers or even toys. It was fantastic.

Cas began to move, slowly and deliberately, and Dean grabbed Cas’s back to provide leverage. The angle was perfect, and, as Cas’s speed increased, his cock hit against Dean’s prostate with each thrust. A wave of pleasure washed over Dean with the contact until he was a shivering mess. A tear streamed down his face, salty as it traveled to his mouth, and soon it was followed by more. This was Cas—well, a reasonable facsimile of, but Dean was in no position to argue semantics. This was Cas doing this to him, bringing him this unbelievable pleasure. And, judging by the breathy moans coming out of Cas, Dean was returning the favor.

Dean was building up so fast. There was no dangling off a ledge, this time. There was only a build to pleasure, steady and inevitable. Then, with a gasp and a shudder, and a jumbled, incoherent cry, warmth covered Dean’s stomach.

Cas quickened his pace, then stiffened and poured out into Dean. His face contorted in ecstasy, and Dean was certain that look would fuel his jack off sessions for the rest of his life.

Cas slipped out of him, let his leg down, and kissed him sweetly on the mouth.

“I love you, too,” Cas whispered.

_Too._

_Too?_

_Shit._

* * *

Dean was not freaking out. He was not. He was more sexually satisfied than he had been in years. Cas was lying next to him, small, content smile on his face, his cock flaccid, but still thick and glistening with lube and come. However, Dean had apparently said three little words during his orgasm. Three words that made up the scariest sentiment possible.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. Feeling it was easy. Feeling it had come naturally after everything they had been through together. Knowing that feeling was different than what he felt for Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, and all the other people he felt feelings for, hadn’t been difficult to understand either. Anyway, you want to have sex with someone, and watch lame cat videos with him, and save the world with him, and protect him from pain at all costs, and sink into his arms at the end of a terrible day and just breathe…. You might start thinking your feelings cross a line. So yeah, Dean had been aware of the depths of his feelings for Cas for years. Purgatory was quite a purifying experience for him, after all. But saying those words? Saying them was terrifying. Saying them was pain and uncertainty and heartache. Saying them was vulnerability. 

Yet he had said them. And he was probably freaking out more from the fact that that knowledge was freeing and exhilarating rather than scary.

“Are you going to sleep?” Dean glanced over at Cas, who’s eyelids were dropping.

“We should clean up first, unless you like sleeping with dried semen on your stomach?”

“I’m less concerned with that than I am with what’s dripping out of my asshole, honestly.”

Cas fixed him with an amused glare. “Get the wet wipes and I’ll take care of that for you.”

They cleaned each other up, and it was oddly as intimate as the sex had been. Once they were clean, they tucked into each other, Cas on his side, his head against Dean’s shoulder. His warm breath tickled Dean’s neck and the short, fine hairs there, and Dean rubbed his hand over Cas’s back.

“Tell me about how we got engaged?” Dean asked. He didn’t know why he wanted to know.

“You don’t remember?” Cas countered, a concerned pout on his gorgeous face.

“Of course I remember,” Dean bluffed. “I proposed to you.”

Cas laughed, relieved. “You did.”

“I yelled it, to be honest. You were leaving again.”

“To Doctors without Borders,” Cas prompted.

“Yes. You were going to leave me, and I shouted, ‘Marry me,’ and you stopped. I figured you were only going because I was too chickenshit to make a commitment, and if I showed you, then you’d finally stay. I wanted you to stay. And we talked it out once cooler heads prevailed, and we agreed to get married.”

“But I went anyway.”

“Yes. I was furious. Nothing had ever hurt that badly. Why does the job always have to get in the way, Cas? Why can’t the universe just let us be for once?”

Dean glanced down at Cas, who was staring off into the distance with a troubled look. “What we do is important, Dean. Sometimes it takes me away from you, but I always come back. I will always come back to you.”

“I just…I don’t want you to leave again, Cas. I want to stay here with you.”

They were kissing again, tears on both their faces, mouths pliant and warm. It took a few minutes to prep Dean again, then Cas was draped over his back, inside him, exactly where he was meant to be. It was languid and relaxed, loving and romantic, Cas mouthing at the back of Dean’s neck while his hand worked Dean’s cock. They came together, crying each others’ names, desperate and ecstatic.

They fell asleep tangled together, limbs askew, breathing the same air, hearts beating as one. Dean had no regrets, no fears, no thoughts but the single, inconceivable realization that he had not, in fact, just had sex with his best friend, but had instead made love with the love of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "The Critic as Artist," by Oscar Wilde.


	10. When You're Fast Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken a while to update this chapter; I was unsatisfied with the first draft. To make up for this I offer you an extra long chapter with extra smut.
> 
> Again, thank you for your kind comments and kudos. They mean the world to me.

It was still dark; Cas was sleeping, his bare chest rising and falling softly in the dim moonlight. Dean was watching him sleep again, which was becoming a terrible habit. It was weird. It was weird when Cas did it, and it was weird when Dean did it. And yet, Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy, sleeping as if it wasn’t an entirely new world. This line they’d drawn in the sand years before; the line that kept them apart all this time was just gone. Evaporated like it hadn’t even been there to begin with. Like this was how they were always meant to be.

It was terrifying. The rules by which Dean had lived his entire life seemed irrelevant in hindsight. Meaningless one night stand after one night stand, drifting from one town to another, nothing but Sam and the Impala for company, suddenly felt emptier than it had before. Back home, Dean had a bunker, a brother, and a best friend; here he had a home, same brother, and a lover. Dean knew which hand he’d bet on.

Dean grabbed the lube from where they’d tossed it sometime during the night. The bottle was low, but there was enough to spread on his own fingers. He reached behind and circled his rim; it was tender and sensitive and Dean sucked in air when he made contact. Taking his time, he let his middle finger press into his own heat; it slid inside him easily. He languidly added another finger, pushing the two deeper, making grazing contact with his prostate. He closed his eyes against the white-hot surge of pleasure arcing through him. His fingers stretched and scissored him open, the tense muscles relaxing under the firm touch. Dean rearranged himself so that he was kneeling in front of Cas, blankets tossed to the side and Cas’s naked body fully revealed to the still air. He clawed at Cas’s muscular thigh with one hand when his fingers made contact again with his prostate. Cas stirred beautifully, his blue eyes fluttering open, taking in Dean panting desperately at the foot of the bed. Dean took the opportunity to take Cas’s soft cock into his mouth; it hardened against his lips and Cas moaned. A hand worked its way through Dean’s hair as Cas woke up fully.

“Hey, babe,” Dean smiled against Cas’s cock.

“Dean,” Cas moaned.

Dean, confident that he had prepared himself enough, crawled over Cas’s body, stopping to take a dark nipple in his mouth and trail his teeth over a sculpted collar bone and neck, nibbling at a precise, stubbled jaw. Dean grabbed the lube again, slicking down his hand, and reached down, taking Cas’s leaking cock, glazing it with lube and lining it up with his hole. He settled down onto it until coarse hair brushed at his ass, knees weak and shaking as he straddled the other man. 

Cas moaned again and moved his hands to Dean’s waist. Dean steadied himself on Cas’s shoulders and began to move. He moved agonizingly slowly at first, savoring the drag of Cas’s cock inside him, against the tight muscle of his rim. They could kiss like this, and did, Cas’s tongue slowly pulsing into Dean’s mouth in a delicious echo of the rhythm of his cock. Dean’s pace and intensity increased.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed when Cas’s cock grazed his prostate.

“Mm hmm,” Cas murmured nonchalantly.

Dean’s rhythm faltered as he fell forward laughing. Cas growled and lifted his hips aggressively, taking control and fucking up into Dean.

Dean couldn’t recover properly. He pushed back against Cas’s brutal pounding and dug his face into Cas’s shoulder. The change in angle meant Cas’s cock struck his prostate with every thrust. Dean all but howled in pleasure. His hand moved to his cock to roughly and messily stroke it. He came in harsh bursts over his hand and stomach and Cas, who thrust into him through his orgasm. He kept going, too hard and too deep for Dean’s overstimulated body, until he convulsed. Dean could feel his cock pulse and release.

Dean remained slumped sweatily against Cas, panting together.

“We need to rehydrate,” Dean laughed once his breathing calmed and steadied. 

He removed himself from Cas’s now soft cock, cleaned himself up as best he could, rolled off the bed, and pulled a pair of pajama pants from the very far away dresser. Seriously, why didn’t they put that shit nearer the bathroom like sane people did? He made his way out of the room into the still, dark apartment and found his brother leaving the kitchen, glass in hand.

“Dude, you have got to stop showing up like this. It’s creepy,” Dean muttered, self consciousness at his level of undress and the activities he was just engaged in bristling the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Isn’t that the kind of thing you usually say to Cas? Or is it now just, ‘Fuck, Cas,’ and ‘Harder, Cas,’ and ‘Right there, Cas?’”

Dean couldn’t help the flush that rose to his cheeks. 

“You _could_ keep it down,” Sam continued irritably. “My kids are in the house.”

“Your _fake_ kids.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Like fake Cas you’re boning?”

“Getting boned by.” Dean waggled his brows suggestively. If Sam was going to give him grief, then Dean was going to give him visuals to last a lifetime.

Dude,” Sam groaned.

“It’s a natural and beautiful act, Sammy.”

“Is that what you’re going to say to Cas when you see him? ‘Hey, Cas, I repress my homosexual feelings for you to such a degree that a djinn used them to trap me. But it’s okay, all the dream sex we had was natural and beautiful.’”

“That is not gonna happen,” Dean snarled. “This…thing…he’s not gonna get it, and I’m not gonna explain it to him. It stays right here, as a fantasy. Where it belongs.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, this idiot is going to get himself some water and maybe some electrolytes and then get some sleep.”

Because for the first time in what was actually years, but felt like the first time ever, he wasn’t sleeping alone. Whatever was coming the next day couldn’t change that.

* * *

Dean woke up the next morning satisfied and sore. They’d had sex at least three times during the night. Fuck, it felt so good to have Cas inside him, so good to be like that. The flood gates were open, and there was no longer any way to contain the tide. He and Cas were lovers now, if only in Dean’s head, and the world was going to have to shift to handle it. He was going to have to shift to handle it. He’d bluffed to Sam the night before about leaving this fantasy here. How could he go back to the real world with Sam and face Cas? How could he give up this intimacy and go back to being just friends? How could he give up his soon-to-be-born babies and his still-alive parents and this comfortable, wonderful life?

Cas was still asleep, on his stomach, one arm draped tightly over Dean’s stomach. Dean brushed his hair back from his forehead where it had dried after their sweaty night. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered to his sleeping lover.

Cas stirred. “I know,” he mumbled. “My…I’m of above average physical attractiveness for a human male.”

“Hey,” Dean shoved him gently. “I’m trying to be romantic here. And, yeah, you’re hot.”

Cas rolled over. “Mm hmm,” he whispered against Dean’s wrist, kissing it sloppily.

“I mean it, Cas, everything about you—about us—it’s everything that’s good in the world.”

“I think you might be biased.” Cas’s lips moved up Dean’s arm until he was biting at his collarbone.

“Shower,” Dean laughed. “We definitely need a shower.” They hadn’t cleaned themselves up well after their second or third rounds. Dean’s thighs were sticking together and there were patches of his dried come on Cas's chest and stomach. 

“Can I fuck you in the shower?” Cas asked, smirking.

“Maybe I should fuck you,” Dean replied, meeting him smirk for smirk.

“Is that something you want?” Cas tilted his head in curiosity.

“I don’t know.”

It would feel undeniably good to put his cock in something tight and hot, and Cas had the greatest ass Dean had ever put his hands on, but it seemed foolish to waste his even greater cock. Dean knew he should feel emasculated or ashamed about wanting to bottom, but he just couldn’t summon those emotions. A cock, hot and hard, beat pretty much any other option. It was what he had been avoiding for years, decades even—his most secret fantasy. At the same time, he kind of wanted to know if the sex with Cas was fantastic because Dean had a particularly responsive prostate, or because it was with Cas. Topping would provide an experience more like what Dean was used to with women, he supposed. And then he could compare. Not to mention, that they couldn’t keep up their current rate of sex without having some rather unfortunate consequences for the state of Dean’s asshole. On the other hand, Dean was pretty sure the awesome sex had little to do with the actual sex, and more to do with the words he had unknowingly mumbled the night before. 

So, _top or bottom_ was the existential crisis going on in Dean’s head, almost as if choosing to be fucked one more time meant a lifelong label.

And Dean didn’t care. 

Well, he wasn’t about to go spreading it around the hunter community or anything. He still had a reputation to maintain, after all. Not everyone was as open-minded as Dean was.

“Suck me off; then fuck me?” Dean finally said.

Cas growled in response.

* * *

They emerged from the shower a half an hour later, clean and jelly-legged. Cas didn’t have to go to work, so they both dressed in jeans and button downs, and made their way into the living room. 

Sam was on the floor with his two boys, playing with toy cars. The younger boy was rolling a car all the way up his father’s long legs. Sam turned towards Dean and Cas and grinned mischievously.

“Surprised to see you two up and about already,” he sneered.

“Shut up,” Dean countered.

“I made breakfast,” Jess poked her head out of the kitchen.

“And I’ll bet you’re hungry.” Sam still had that stupid smirk on his face.

Dean and Cas followed Jess into their kitchen, where a plush pile of pancakes sat warming in the oven. 

“Boys!” Jess shouted, “Uncle Dean and Uncle Cas are up, it’s time for breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to wait for us,” Cas smiled warmly. “And you certainly didn’t have to cook.”

“Yeah,” Dean added. “I would’ve cooked—”

Jess dismissed him with a gentle hand wave. “My boys are big eaters. I don’t think that rabbit food your fridge is filled with would have sufficed.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Sam added, one son tucked under his arm. “Is one of your secret desires to be a health food nut like your little brother?”

Dean glared at said little brother. He sat in one of the chairs around the kitchen table, a stack of pancakes in front of him. 

“That would be my doing,” Cas wrapped one arm around Dean’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I’d like our kids to learn good eating habits, which means Dean needs to learn good eating habits.”

“It’s been egg white omelettes every morning,” Dean laughed ruefully, “so these look fantastic, Jess.”

“Uncle Dean,” the older of the two boys climbed onto Dean’s lap. “Can I have some?”

“Hey, Buddy,” Dean replied, and he wished he could remember which was the boy’s name. “Your momma will get you your own plate.”

“But I want these,” the boy replied stubbornly.

“Then I guess we’ll have to share.”

Dean managed to avoid the sticky mess little John (ha, the older one was the one named after dad!) got into, but his hands and his face were still more syrupy than if he had eaten his pancakes without six year old help.

“Okay, little man,” he said, handing the boy off to his mother. “You go get cleaned up with your mama.”

“Speaking of cleaning,” Cas spoke up, “I have to take some clothes to the dry cleaners. My suits don’t cleanse themselves.”

Heh. That was ironic. 

Dean followed Cas into their bedroom, intending to wash his hands in the master bath rather than the guest bath. This, of course, had nothing to do with wanting to steal a private moment with the other man.

Gratefully, Cas had the same idea. He slammed Dean against the wall next to the door as if he were laying in wait. Instead of the kiss Dean expected, Cas’s tongue flicked out and licked the sweet, sticky syrup off Dean’s face.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned. Cas took one of his hands and began to suck the syrup off a finger. Dean was already hard. It was like Cas had complete control of Dean’s dick.

Dean was so far gone into this fantasy. It was more real than real life could ever be. There were reasons to live here, reasons to stay.

Cas kneeled on the carpeting in front of Dean and fumbled with his belt and zipper. Shortly, Dean’s erection was exposed to the cool air and Cas’s hot mouth.

Cas licked up Dean’s cock. “I like the way you taste,” he muttered. “Is that strange?” He glanced up at Dean through long, dark lashes, spurring another surge of lust through Dean.

Dean ran his hand through Cas’s hair. “No, that’s not weird. That’s pretty hot, actually.”

“Hmmm,” Cas replied, leaning in again. “That’s good.”

Then it was on. Cas sucked on the head, licking around it like it was an ice cream cone. His tongue worked along the vein on the bottom as he took Dean fully in his mouth. He used one hand to stabilize himself against the wall behind Dean while the other cupped Dean’s balls.

“That’s so good, babe,” Dean gasped. “You’re such a babe. I love your mouth.” Cas took him deeper and hummed, and Dean could feel his imminent orgasm. “Gonna come, Cas.”

Cas pulled off and grabbed the base of Dean’s cock, holding it firmly. “Where? Where do you want to come?”

A hundred scenarios instantly popped into Dean’s mind. Cas could unzip his jeans, and Dean could come on his (better be) hard cock, then suck off his own come. Cas could unbutton his shirt instead and Dean could come on his chest and neck. Cas’s face. Cas’s hair. Cas’s mouth. Fuck, this train of thought was doing nothing to stop him from blowing his load.

“Hand,” he finally panted. “Wanna see.”

Cas slid his hand up Dean’s length; it was still slick with his spit. His hand slid up and down a few more times before it twisted around the head. And, fuck, there it was. Sweet, sweet release, starting deep within Dean’s abdomen and bursting out through him into Cas’s hand, coating those gorgeous fingers in slick.

Cas stood up, hand still covered, leaned closely towards Dean, and proceeded to slowly lick Dean’s come off his fingers.

“I told you I like the way you taste,” he smiled between languorous licks.

If Dean were 15 years younger, he’d already be hard again. Since this was technically a dream, he mentally cursed the realistic refractory periods he seemed to be stuck with. Instead, he joined Cas in licking his own semen off of one of Cas’s fingers. Cas groaned, and his long tongue flicked against Dean’s and his own fingers.

“Your turn,” he urged. 

“I can’t,” Cas frowned. “I really do have to go.”

“Don’t you want to take care of this?” Dean uttered and pushed his hand into the crotch of Cas’s jeans, feeling the hard length of him.

“More than anything.” Cas smiled sadly as he spoke. “If I could stay here with you forever, I would.”

Same.

Dean cleaned himself up at the sink in their bathroom once Cas had gone and Dean’s knees had regained their strength. The face in the mirror was barely recognizable as his own. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright, and he actually looked happy. He was happy. He was so fucking happy. And it had nothing to do with not hunting (which he sort of missed), or being a firefighter, or this ridiculous domestic life in a high rise apartment in Chicago.

_It was Cas._

He was in love with Cas and Cas was in love with him and it was awesome.

And there were babies on the way. Sweet little babies who were never going to know a hunter’s life.

Dean was so caught up in his happy thoughts that he nearly ran into Sam in the living room.

“Sorry, Sammy.”

“What was that?” a voice called from the kitchen.

Sammy’s voice.

There was one Sam in the living room, and one Sam exiting the kitchen, wearing rubber dishwashing gloves with a three year old trailing behind him. 

The two Sams looked at each other, and, once their eyes met, the Sam in the kitchen—the Sam who had been with Dean in the djinn world all this time—disappeared.

The remaining Sam looked gloomily at Dean.

“Dean, it’s time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes," from _Cinderella_.


	11. For in That Sleep

“Dean, it’s time to go home,” Sam said with a gloomy expression on his face.

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“You’re…you’re in a djinn-created dream.”

“I know that,” Dean snapped. “I mean, why are you here when you were just _here_?” He gestured towards the kitchen and the little boy still standing in the doorway.

“That was a part of the dream world, Dean,” Sam responded matter-of-factly. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“No, I…” Dean trailed off.

What the hell was going on here? Sam wasn’t Sam? Sam had been back in the real world all this time? 

“You were you. I mean…you weren’t a part of the world, just like I wasn’t. I thought…”

“Dean,” Sam breathed deeply. “This isn’t an ordinary djinn. It’s different,” he finished hazily.

“What do you mean, different? Like the kind that got Charlie a few years ago?”

“Not exactly,” Sam hesitated.

“What’s with the caginess, man?” Dean questioned brusquely.

Sam took another deep breath. “It’s like a super powered djinn. Like a djinn with extra juice.”

Okay. That made sense. The world this djinn created was incredibly complex, full of people Dean knew, behaving exactly like they would. Sam had successfully fooled him, and Cas… Cas was like every erotic dream Dean had in a year—on acid. He was a fantasy, sure, but he was Cas enough that Dean loved him as easily as he loved the Angel. And what they did together? It was electrifying. The last times he was in a djinn world it hadn’t been this intense. So maybe it was a super-powered djinn, and maybe this really was Sam when the other had not been.

“How do I know you’re really Sam? The other guy sure seemed like you.”

“You know I can’t prove it to you. If I was a creation of this world, I’d know everything…I’d know everything _you_ knew.”

“Fair point.”

“Dean, when you didn’t wake up, I knew I had to come and get you. So I whipped up a potion like we used with Charlie and now it’s time to go.”

“No,” Dean heard himself say.

“What—what do you mean?” Sam stuttered.

“I’m not leaving. After everything I’ve been through? After the Mark of Cain? After years and years of this never-ending bullshit? I need a break, Sammy. This is—this is my beach.”

Sam searched around the room. If he took in the wedding photos recently returned to their places, he made no remark or motion. He made his way to the sofa and sat down heavily. “Dean, this isn’t real,” he sighed.

“Well, it sure as hell feels real,” Dean countered angrily.

Sam rested his head in his hands. “I was afraid of this. That’s why I had to come get you myself. Dean, I think this…djinn wants you to stay.”

“All djinns want you to stay, Sammy. That’s how they bleed you dry.”

“And you want to stay anyway?” Sam asked with a concerned expression on his face.

“You could stay, too,” Dean stated, feigning nonchalance. “I was going to try and convince the other you, but since he wasn’t real… You have a good life here, you know. Jess is alive. Mom and dad are alive. The entire time I’ve been here there hasn’t been a compromise in sight.”

“I can’t stay, too,” Sam responded confusedly. “This isn’t where I belong.”

“It could be. You…you finished law school, you married Jess, you have two perfect little boys you could love.” Dean looked around for the boy who had been standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He had clearly wandered off, but Dean could hear activity past the hallway. “Jess!” he called.

This was cruel. Dean knew it; in a moment, Sam would know it. It was manipulative and low-down, and Dean didn’t care. He’d made up his mind. However, even as he watched the look on Sam’s face shift as he first caught sight of Jess, one boy in her arms and the other grabbing at her leg, a little voice in the back of his head whispered What about Cas? Real Cas. While Dean was playing house with his djinn created doppelganger, Cas was still out there. And as long as Cas was alive, he’d never give up on Dean. He’d proven that a million times over.

What if Cas found his way into this dream world? He could dreamwalk, right? He could just waltz right in here and find Dean sucking “his” cock. That would require an explanation worthy of an Oscar nomination. The look on Cas’s face would be mortifying. Unless he joined in… Great, now Dean was imagining a threesome with two Cas’s. And now was a terrible time for little Dean to join in. Real Cas seeing what fake Cas was doing would be a terrible idea. He would never understand and that would break Dean’s heart.

He glanced over at Sam, who was holding Jess’s face tenderly, staring into it with wonder and love on his own. Maybe Sam would understand the desire to stay. Dean would rather his brother join him in this fictional place, but either way he wasn’t leaving. That he would rather have a pretend Cas who loved him and wanted him than continue out in reality with whatever fuzzy thing they had filtered through Cas’s restored Grace was not something he wanted to think about. It seriously sucked being in love with an Angel despite what all the songs said.

“Jess,” Sam finally whispered, breaking Dean’s reverie.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Jess asked.

“You’re ten years older.”

“You are such a sweet-talker, Sam,” Jess laughed.

“No, no, no. I mean, you’re so beautiful even after ten years,” Sam breathed.

“And two kids.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam laughed, finally turning his attention to the two boys. “Give your dad a hug.”

As Sam took each of his sons in his arms, Dean felt a twinge in his heart. Unless he stayed here, he’d never say those words. He’d never hold his kids in his arms. Why the hell had this djinn, so giving in every other regard, kept him from that?

_Oh right, to keep him here._

Well, it worked.

“Come on boys,” Jess sighed. “Your daddy and Uncle Dean have some important things to discuss.”

She grasped Sam’s face and kissed his cheek gently. “Don’t go,” Dean heard her whisper.

Once she and the kids went back down the hall, Dean spoke. “She’s right, you know. You might as well stay. It’s not like you have anything out there, either.”

“Dean, don’t say that,” Sam countered.

“It’s true. Out there is never-ending bullshit. I’m happy here. I’m at peace for the first time _in my life_.”

“We do have friends out there, Dean.”

“Uh, Cas and Charlie are here, man. Well, their djinn dream versions at least.”

“Cas is here?” Sam asked.

 _Shit._ Sam was going to put two and two together. “Yeah, man. Human and everything.”

“Human?” Sam’s eyebrows raised to about the height of his hairline.

 _Shit._ Why did he say that?

“This djinn world has a human Cas?”

“Well, everyone’s human, man,” Dean shrugged, playing it nonchalantly.

“Hmm,” Sam nodded. His eyes traveled to the photo on the mantle. “Is that why you want to stay?”

Dean bowed his head, unable to look Sam in the eyes. He had this look on his face that Dean couldn’t bear. He’d much preferred the fake Sam’s mocking to this calm understanding.

“We’ve got kids on the way, Sammy. Charlie’s carrying them. I just want to see them born.”

“In this world, you and Cas are married? And this is what you want, too?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, almost too afraid to admit it.

“This is so much more complicated than I expected,” Sam sighed, hiding his face in his hands. 

Dean laughed mirthlessly. That was the understatement of the century.

“How long have I been in here?” he finally asked.

“Twelve hours or so.”

_Twelve hours?!?_

“It felt like days,” Dean coughed.

“Djinn time doesn’t move at the same speed as time back in the real world,” Sam stated matter-of-factly. 

“Exactly!” Dean exclaimed. “So I could stay another 2 months, and then go home.”

Like he could actually do that. Like his heart wouldn’t always remain in the place where all his dreams came true.

“Dean, that could be weeks; your body wouldn’t survive that long. You’d be dead.”

“What if I didn’t care?”

Sam looked away, like he couldn’t bear to see Dean like this. Whether he was embarrassed or sad, Dean couldn’t tell, and he didn’t really care either. His desperation was clouding all rational thought. There was nothing in his head but a steady stream of _need, want, Cas, family, love._

A sound at the front door took their attention for a moment before Sam leaned in swiftly and pleaded, “Dean you have to get out of here, now. Believe me when I say, you can’t stay here any longer.”

“No,” Dean shouted angrily. “I won’t go. I don’t want to leave.” 

“It’s done. It’s time to go.”

Sam turned to face Cas, who had entered during Dean’s outburst. He was staring between Sam and Dean as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“You, too, Cas,” Sam breathed sadly. “It’s time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from _Hamlet_ , III.iii.67, by William Shakespeare.


	12. The Angel's Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on the last chapter made my weekend! I'm glad you all seemed to enjoy the cliffhanger! Before we see how that resolves itself, I give you the first (of three!) chapter from Castiel's POV, starting back at the beginning. It's a long one. The angel has a lot to say.

Castiel awoke in an unfamiliar place. He was seated at a desk in a nondescript office; a computer sat in front of him along with a collection of photos featuring familiar faces: Dean, Sam, and the vessels of his fellow angels. He quickly made a full search of his surroundings; it appeared to be a doctor’s office in a hospital. The door, which opened, led into a hospital corridor full of people, none of whom regarded him with curiosity. Castiel checked his reflection in a glass case mounted against the wall of the office. His vessel appeared as it usually did, dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, but his clothes had been changed. Instead of his usual black suit, white shirt, striped tie, and trenchcoat, he was dressed in a light blue shirt and gray slacks. Even more unusual, however, was that his stomach was growling. He hadn’t experienced hunger in some time, but he knew how to identify the sensation. It had not been one of the more pleasant aspects of being human, even if he had enjoyed the taste of food unencumbered by his grace. In fact, his whole physical being felt just as it did during those months of humanity. His mind, however, felt no different, and appeared to be unaffected. His thoughts were his own, his feelings neither as overwhelming as they had been when he was mortal nor as clouded as when he first walked on earth. His grace, however, seemed to be inaccessible. The best analogy he could reason was that he felt similar to the time he was cut off from Heaven during the apocalypse. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one he could deal with for as long as he needed.

He tried to remember the last time he had felt like himself, and what he had been doing then. There had been rumors of a djinn having set up in an abandoned building outside of Columbus, Ohio. He hadn’t bothered to alert Sam and Dean of the problem, as a fully graced up angel should have no problem taking care of a djinn on his own. And yet, here Castiel was, likely trapped in his own djinn world.

“What do you think you are doing?” he called out into the ether.

Several moments passed with no manifestation, then the door opened and a man stepped through. He was nondescript, lacking the distinctive markings of his species, and of an appearance so unremarkable that he could have fit in anywhere.

“You rang?” the man said and raised his eyebrows dramatically.

“Why have you brought me here? What do you want with me?” Castiel queried, closing the distance between the two.

“What do I want, Castiel? I want to _feed_ off you, of course.”

“So this was a trap.”

“Oh yes. I have no need for any other victim but you,” the djinn replied, smirking.

“That’s not possible. I am an angel.”

The djinn continued. “An angel…with human desires. I could feed off you for a century and never go hungry.”

“No,” Cas gasped.

“This,” the djinn gestured around the room, “is your deepest, most secret desire.”

“Let me assure you,” Cas growled in reply. “None of this is any desire of mine.”

The djinn laughed mirthlessly. “I think you know that’s not how this works. I can see inside you, grace or no grace, and this is what you want. Not heaven, not paradise, but this mundane little world where you have a family and a job as,” he picked up the nameplate sitting on the desk, “head of Pediatric Surgery.”

“You think I want to be human,” Castiel scoffed.

The djinn merely laughed again.

Castiel circled round to the back of the desk to look at the pictures again. He gazed into the long gone faces of Anna, Balthazar, Samandriel, Jimmy, and Amelia, and felt a deep twinge of guilt at his culpability in their deaths. He would never wash his hands of their blood. Tearing himself away from their guilt-inducing visages, he made a surprising discovery: every photo prominently featured one man.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Welcome to my world, Angel.”

Castiel puffed himself up as if he had his wings, and bellowed, “This is my world. You do not know what you have done here, but be certain of this, I control what happens here, not you.”

The djinn backed up at the seraph’s insistence.

“As long as I have my grace, I have all the power. Do you wish to test me?”

Castiel could feel the world around him shimmer and shift, as if bending to his will.

“What did you do?” the djinn asked, the fear evident in his voice.

“Whatever traps you laid for me are gone. Whatever rules you set up are null. If I am trapped in a world of my own desires, then be certain my desires shall reign,” Cas proclaimed.

“You can’t do that.”

“I’m an angel.”

With that, the djinn made his escape. Castiel was unable to hurt him as long as his venom made Castiel his prisoner. In the meantime, however, Castiel had this world to explore and figure out, and that made a weight settle in his stomach that had nothing to do with satiating his hunger.

_Dean…_

His deepest desire was Dean.

And in this world, that had been fulfilled.

If the ring on Castiel’s left hand was any indication, he and Dean had made their fictional union matrimonial. The alert beeping on his cellular phone also indicated that Castiel was expected to join Dean and Charlie for her obstetrician’s appointment.

This could only indicate that Charlie was pregnant, and if both Dean and Castiel were to be in attendance, the logical conclusion would be that she was operating as a surrogate or gestational host for their fetus and not her own. Given that this likely required In Vitro Fertilization, then perhaps the plural _fetuses_ would be the resulting scenario.

Castiel still had more than an hour before the expected meeting, however, so he spent his time getting to know this world. More importantly, however, he needed to practice how to properly be a husband to Dean. The Dean that had been manifested in this world was going to expect certain things from Castiel: affection, physical touch, perhaps even sexual intercourse. Castiel was experienced with a female, of course, but had no practice pleasuring a man. He had theoretical knowledge of course, and, during his time as a human, he had experimented with male-male pornography and had found it very arousing. There was, however, no need to shortchange research, so he typed several key phrases into the internet, locked the office door, and unzipped his trousers to conduct a thorough analysis of the subject.

* * *

Castiel was faced with the most difficult choice he had ever had to make. The obstetrician’s appointment had gone very well, all things considered. Castiel believed he had fulfilled everything expected of him. He had shown Dean chaste affection, interacted appropriately with Charlie, and used his understanding of Claire to affectively portray a doting father-to-be. He was very proud of his ability to acclimate to this illusion, and yet he found it difficult to cross the line in front of him. The Dean who was here with him was a manipulated chimera, and would expect a kiss upon parting. It was a line that Castiel had been very careful never to cross, despite both desire and optimism urging him to do so. Dean was doing it again, in fact, singularly focusing on Castiel’s mouth. If Castiel capitulated to the temptation dangling in front of him, he was uncertain if he’d ever be able to resist again.

Nonetheless, the amalgamation of desire and curiosity won out, and Castiel closed the short distance between himself and Dean and kissed him.

Once their mouths touched, it felt to Castiel as if he were regaining his grace once again, power surging through him. Dean leaned slightly into the kiss, but it remained within the confines of propriety. It was, all things considered, a very successful endeavor, as Dean seemed unquestionably affected by it. 

“I love you,” Castiel breathed.

Despite the quietness of the words, they seemed to echo through the hall. Castiel had never spoken such a thing before. Once he had acquired knowledge of feelings, however, he had realized how love for Dean Winchester had been the first emotion he had truly experienced. It had been significantly later, however, that he realized the nature of that love was romantic. Castiel was in love with Dean Winchester. In this world, Dean shared those feelings. It was a remarkable experience.

* * *

Castiel had panicked and conceded to his fear. Terrified that Dean would desire something Castiel was too inexperienced to offer, he had concocted a false patient and a counterfeit surgery to avoid the expected intimacy. Nonetheless, upon arriving at the apartment that was their home in this reality, he had slipped next to the sleeping Dean and spent a very comfortable night with his arms wrapped around the man. Having Dean’s scent and warm body so near, however, had been extremely erotic to the trapped angel.

Arousal had eventually gotten the best of him, and he breached the distance between the two in the kitchen while Dean attempted to cook them breakfast. This time, as they were alone, propriety was of no concern, and Dean returned the kiss with untamed passion. Dean’s tongue was hot and desperate; his lips captured Castiel’s own with fervor. Dean’s hands had been everywhere, and Cas took liberties to touch Dean’s body in places he hadn’t explored since he pieced Dean’s body and soul back together the day they met. Lust clouded Castiel’s rational judgment and he very much wanted to take Dean to bed and explore the possibilities on which he had educated himself the previous day. This Dean would let him. This Dean would not push him away embarrassed when things began to cross a line, as Dean had done in Purgatory.

Castiel, however, was behaving very inappropriately. He should not let the freedom of this world cloud his better judgment. He was certain he had wrested control of the place from the djinn, but that did not mean the djinn could not plant surprises in retaliation. He had to remain vigilant, and not let Dean distract him from an escape plan.

He then made the unfortunate decision to kiss Dean once again. 

“I can’t wait to get home and fuck you into the mattress,” he said to Dean.

He was uncertain if he could even “make good” on such a promise. Indeed, the very suggestion required this Dean being more interested in the stimulation of the anus and prostate than Castiel had found himself during the previous day’s exploration. He much preferred direct stimulation of the erectile tissue of the penile shaft and—particularly—the glans penis. It would be a cruel joke of the djinn’s magic to render them, essentially, incompatible. Still, there were other ways to engage in sexual congress that did not involve penetration.

* * *

Castiel had “chickened out” yet again, concocting another false patient in need of a surgery of which Castiel had no exact knowledge. Without direct access to his grace, he was of no use to any sick or injured child. There were no patients he had to tend to. He spent his days doing paperwork, overseeing other doctors—all of whom he recognized as his brother and sister angels—and availing himself of the games loaded onto his computer and cellular phone. He would much rather have spent the time with Dean.

Castiel could not avoid the anxiety that he would be unable to sexually please Dean. His only sexual partner, April, had complimented his technique, but as a reaper, she likely had no more experience than Castiel did, which was, at that time, nil. 

What Castiel wanted most of all, perhaps the entire basis of this reality, was for Dean to be happy. It had caused him to make unsound decisions in the past, such as when he absorbed the souls of purgatory and colluded with Crowley, lying and scheming in order to prevent Dean from having to return to hunting—something which Dean did anyway. It had led him to deceive Dean in purgatory, as well, so that he could ensure Dean passed through the door safely. He had murdered one of his own and stolen grace in order to protect Dean from a possibly dangerous rogue angel. It was only logical, then, that Castiel would fear being unable to provide Dean with happiness, even in this daydream.

Castiel could consider this something of a battle simulation. He could practice his technique on a Dean that was unlikely to refuse his advances. Nothing was at stake here, and Castiel could make all the mistakes he was liable to without damaging his relationship with Dean. He shortly left the hospital to put his decision into practice.

It had been extremely disappointing when Dean declined Castiel’s sexual advances. When Castiel had found him in bed, and he had responded so well to a kiss, Castiel had assumed that he was open to engaging in some form of sexual activity. And yet, Dean had turned down the offer.

Castiel did the only thing that he could conclude as the correct action, and that was to leave Dean alone and get on with his night. It was for the better—he was certain of it—as he entered the bathroom and undressed. The shower did nothing to tamper his passion, however, as the entire—brisk—affair was filled with lust-fueled fantasies of Dean joining him.

Once he had finished in the bathroom, he crossed the room to get night clothes. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, hot and lustful, following as he moved to the dresser. It was somewhat of a thrill, honestly, to be regarded in such a manner by Dean. Over the years Dean had made subtle indications he appreciated the aesthetics of this vessel, though never acted on it. Castiel had been through so much in said vessel, he considered it his body and took pride in the admiration. Castiel dropped his towel to the ground and felt the tenor of the room change. On the bed, Dean made little moans, and, when Castiel turned around, he found Dean visibly aroused. This Dean had not the arbitrary restrictions on the gender of his sexual partners that the real Dean seemed to have. 

It was difficult not to be smug as Castiel settled into the bed next to Dean. Castiel was a bundle of nerves; whatever Dean wanted, Castiel was unsure he’d be able to supply. 

“Blow me, Cas.”

It was as if Castiel had received revelation. He claimed Dean’s neck with his mouth, and the heady taste of Dean sent a surge of arousal through Castiel’s vessel. Castiel traced his mouth down Dean’s body, stopping to stroke an engorged nipple with his tongue. Dean made marvelous sounds of arousal and grabbed at Castiel—his hair, his shoulders, his back—as his body arced with pleasure. Eventually, Castiel’s mouth reached its final destination. He removed Dean’s remaining clothing and was faced with Dean’s erection for the first time. The glans penis was flushed and damp with pre-ejaculate; Dean was in an advanced state of arousal. Castiel understood that the size of the tumescent penis was an issue of some importance for many men. He didn’t understand why; the size of the penis had little to do with the amount of pleasure gained from it. Judging by the pornography Castiel had consulted, his vessel was average, and Dean was a similar length, but smaller in girth. Whatever its size comparison, it was a very nice penis and Castiel placed a small kiss to the tip before taking it in his mouth.

Again, the taste of Dean triggered blood flow to Castiel’s own penis. Castiel performed fellatio with all the technique he had acquired. Dean, fortunately, seemed amenable to his performance, letting out groans and grasping at the sheets. Perhaps Castiel became overconfident, or perhaps curiosity got the better of him, but Castiel could not control the impulse to explore Dean’s body further. If Dean did enjoy anal stimulation, then penetrative sex was a definite possibility, one which Castiel was near desperate to explore. Castiel removed his mouth and let it travel even lower, fully prepared to stop if Dean requested it. The only sounds out of Dean’s beautiful—and expletive filled—mouth, however, were wanton moans and whimpers. The tight ring of muscle gave way to Castiel’s tongue, and—oh—it felt as if they were discovering something wonderful together.

Further stimulation of the glans penis with Castiel’s mouth, in concert with continued manual stimulation of the anus, and Dean reached orgasm. He was the very picture of erotic ecstasy. Castiel’s arousal seemed to pale in comparison to Dean’s pleasure, and he was ready to cease the night’s sexual activity when Dean pulled him up and kissed him. His tongue was demanding against Castiel’s, but he pulled away suddenly.

“Your turn,” he groaned, as he trailed teeth against Castiel’s jaw.

Just as Castiel had done to him, Dean took Castiel’s penis into his mouth. It was an exquisite, overwhelming feeling, one of the greatest physical sensations Castiel had ever experienced, and he found he could not control his body’s spasms. Surprisingly, instead of attempting to control him, Dean relaxed his head and jaw and let Castiel simulate intercourse with his mouth. There was no restraint left in him, as he thrust his hips into the waiting mouth, hitting the back of Dean’s throat. The extra stimulus that provided urged Castiel on, until Dean pulled back just as Castiel could postpone no longer. The orgasm that echoed through his body set a new standard for what physical sensations it was capable of.

It was a messy, sloppy affair, and resulted in Dean’s face being marked with the viscous liquid. Given Dean’s willingness to lick into his mouth after his own ejaculation, Castiel surmised that he could do the same. He licked the remaining semen off of Dean’s chin and let him suck it off his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered before sleep took over. Dean did not return the sentiment, but he did not have to, because it had been evident in everything they had just done to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to the portion of a wine or spirit that evaporates during the aging process, made famous in a Jim Beam commercial.


	13. How Like an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your comments and kudos. I am absolutely floored by the response to this fic. I love you all.

Castiel didn’t dream. When his grace was low, such as last year or during the apocalypse, his body required sleep, but the subconscious imaginings of the mind never came. He dreamt during his short time as a human, but dreams were not meant for Angels. It was not without a sense of irony, then, that he pondered his current state. He was—not to argue semantics—currently caught in something that was otherwise unavailable to him. How blessed, then, to be experiencing such a thing.

Dean shifted in his sleep next to Castiel. He was still nude under the covers and so beautiful. Castiel pressed closer and tightened his arm around Dean’s chest; Dean pushed back in his sleep, moaning softly. His buttocks against Castiel’s crotch increased the blood flow to that area. As the stimulation continued, Castiel released a groan. The noise prompted Dean to rouse.

“Morning,” Dean breathed.

“Good morning,” Castiel replied against Dean’s neck. He let his hand drift across Dean’s chest and stomach until it hovered over his hip. The slight repositioning of Dean’s body was sufficient enough permission for Castiel to move the final few inches and take Dean’s penis in hand. It was already fully erect, possibly from the unconscious cuddling, possibly from normal nocturnal tumescence. Either way, he groaned breathily at the contact. His penis was heavy and warm in Castiel’s hand; Castiel traced the length of it.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean groaned. “Just like that.”

“I want to make you feel good, Dean.” Castiel’s erotolalia could use improvement, but Dean did not seem to mind.

Dean rolled over so that the two men were facing each other and pulled down Castiel’s pajamas. Free from Castiel’s hand, he thrust his hips so that the bottom side of their erections rubbed against each other.

“Now we both feel good,” Dean smiled between puffs of air.

Castiel groaned in assent.

Dean took Castiel’s hand in his and placed both over their penises. This increased the sensation tenfold, their hands moving together, their hips thrusting towards each other. It was remarkable how Castiel’s focus could become so singular; there was nothing for him in the universe than Dean’s hand, Dean’s mouth and the lascivious things it said, Dean’s eyes closed tightly in pleasure, Dean’s body, pink, sweaty, and flushed, and the sensations they wrung from Castiel’s own.

They spilled their seed together and the universe expanded to include fireworks, stars collapsing, galaxies being created, and the entirety of the big bang.

How easy it had become to fall into rhythm as if it were comfortable! How easy to pretend Dean was his true self and not a deception! How deluded was Castiel to imagine himself replaying this intimacy with the real Dean!

Castiel had fallen so far; the legendary angel warrior had let his existence be ruled by such a human thing—a simple human thing that most angels scoffed at. A human thing, yes, but one that humans fought over, created art for—the greatest of all human acts was to love. 

They could have showered together after their orgasms, but hunger called instead. It was a unique circumstance; their bodies did not require sustenance in this world, yet craved it nonetheless. Still, Castiel, being so unused to requiring nourishment, only remembered to eat when he joined Dean. His taste sensations were not amplified by his grace, so food tasted as it should and not as the molecules themselves.

Nevertheless, Castiel paid little attention to the food or its preparation. The only taste he longed for was Dean. They flirted and teased through breakfast, feeding each other despite Dean’s distaste for the healthy food. Oh, he was so like himself!

Soon, things turned sexual again. It was a heady sensation to see how this fictitious Dean desired him.

“I want you, Dean. I need you,” Castiel whispered.

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Yeah,” Dean babbled in reply. He ground wantonly against Castiel’s crotch.

Castiel was seconds away from climax simply from rubbing against Dean’s clothed perineum, when Dean received a phone call. Dean let out a deep moan that sounded of half arousal and half dismay. Castiel pulled away, his groin heavy, uncomfortable, and desperate for release.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said into the phone. His voice was still loaded with lust and Castiel desired nothing more than to hear his name called out in that beautiful tone.

Sam was arriving that evening from wherever this dream world had placed him. Castiel attempted to reason out where his subconscious would desire Sam, but was unable to imagine anyplace other than at Dean’s side. Perhaps that was why he was arriving. If questioned on the subject of friends, Castiel would have quickly offered Sam as his best friend in the world. Charlie would come second, though not out of secondary affection, only out of deference to his longer relationship with Sam. Hannah was complicated; despite her romantic attachment to him and his perceived abandonment of heaven, he still held her in great regard. Dean, of course, was in a class by himself, long ago abandoning the name of friend—perhaps never having deserved it—for reason to live, greatest love, mission. Possibly it had been so since Castiel led his garrison into hell, waging war to rescue the Righteous Man.

Affection for Sam notwithstanding, Castiel did not particularly wish for his visit in this circumstance. There were many more things he desired to explore with Dean, and these things did not intermingle well with an audience.

He could distantly hear Dean chatting with Sam from the bathroom, where he unzipped his slacks and relieved the tension in his groan. He imagined his hand was Dean’s anus, clenching around him, hot and slick with lubricant. He reached orgasm very quickly, finding it a satisfying release in accordance with his elevated excitement. Unfortunately, his arousal had left a damp spot on his underwear and pants, and his subsequent ejaculation had splattered onto his shirt. People skills were still not his strong suit, but he was certain that arriving at work in semen and pre-ejaculate stained clothes was unacceptable, even in a dream. He stepped out of the bathroom and into his and Dean’s bedroom. The door to the living room was still open, as Castiel had little modesty. As he put on a new pair of trousers, he could hear Dean swearing in the kitchen.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” he shouted.

Castiel could feel the reverberation as a heavy boot made contact with the wall their bedroom shared with the living room.

“Are you okay, babe,” he shouted.

“Cas?” Dean replied. “Are you still here?”

“ _Yes?_ ” Castiel called back, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

A handsome face appeared in the doorway, grinning lasciviously. “Do you want to finish what we started?” 

“I already did,” Castiel shrugged.

“Bastard.” Dean disappeared, and when Castiel crossed into the living room, he was standing in feigned nonchalance by the mantle.

“Later,” he smiled. 

* * *

His day at the hospital was again filled with unnecessary paperwork and nothing else. Surely, somewhere in this false city there were children who needed help. He doubted that any deep-seated desire he suppressed involved feeling useless and unimportant. Instead of wallowing in his futility, he scrolled through the phone this world had provided him with and phoned the people he had let down in the real world. Things with Anna were apparently fraught even in this reality. While Castiel had not turned her in to Heaven’s prison, it seemed he had stolen her boyfriend and married him. This had been years earlier, of course, but Anna rehashed the entire sordid affair, down to her discovering Dean performing fellatio on him in the backseat of the Impala at what was supposed to be her birthday party. The conversations with Balthazar and Samandriel were much less burdened, as their djinn counterparts had no knowledge that Castiel had, in fact, murdered them. For Castiel’s part, however, the guilt was so overwhelming he had to cut the phone calls short. After a suitably bizarre conversation with Gabriel, there was no avoiding Castiel’s greatest guilt. When he dialed Jimmy’s number, the phone rang and rang until a familiar voice answered.

“Hello,” Claire’s voice said.

“Claire?” Castiel’s voice broke. 

“Hey, Uncle Cas,” she replied happily. Uncle Cas.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Senior skip day. My friends and I are heading to the river to canoe,” she replied casually. He could hear her turn away from the phone and shout something.

“Well, have fun,” he replied with a failed attempt to not sound awkward.

“Thanks. I love you.” He could hear the smile and genuineness in her voice through the phone.

“I love you, too.”

After he had hung up, he had no more interest in telephoning anyone. Claire was happy, well cared-for, and loved him. Claire loved him and Dean loved him. It truly was a perfect world.

After too many minutes of wallowing in his emotions on the subject, he made one last telephone call. 

“I’m so popular with the Winchester-Novak family today,” Charlie laughed through the phone. “You’d think I was carrying a pair of them or something. Seriously, Cas, I’d love to have lunch with you, but I’ve already made plans with your other half.”

_Hmm._ Dean hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

“I’m sure you could join us,” Charlie offered.

“No, I…”

_No, I wanted to talk about Dean._

After ending the telephone call with Charlie, Castiel joined some of his coworkers for lunch instead. Of course, there was not going to be an opportunity to discuss his marriage to Dean with his fellow Doctor-Angels, but it would provide a welcome distraction and camaraderie. 

* * *

Upon returning from lunch—which ran long—Castiel found the djinn in his office, pacing.

“What the hell?” he growled angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel replied. “Have I inconvenienced you?”

“You’ve trapped me here.” The djinn advanced on him.

“Yes, I suppose you could call it a _reversal of fortune._ ”

“So, you think this is funny? If I’m trapped here, you’re trapped here, too.” The djinn punctuated each word with a jab at Castiel’s chest. “We’re all trapped here!”

“If I were to let you free, assuming I could, you would return to your plan to…eat me alive,” Castiel barked in return. “With you taken care of, I can safely plan my own escape.” 

“You’re never getting out of here,” the djinn snarled. 

Castiel’s hand grabbed at the djinn’s neck. Even without the strength of his grace, this body was muscular and responsive. He slammed the djinn against the door. “Perhaps I’ll kill you now and see what happens.”

“This world might all evaporate. Everything in it, including you, might simply cease to exist.” The djinn waved his arms dramatically as he spoke, as if he was a conjuror in an old fashioned circus.

“Perhaps that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if that means eliminating you as a threat,” Castiel responded.

“Ah yes, the self-sacrificing Angel who fell for humanity,” the djinn laughed derisively. “Do you even know what you’ve done? I felt the shift in this world; I know what you truly desire. You may play house here, but I will make sure you never get what you want.”

Confusion and fear tingled up Castiel’s back at the djinn’s words. He could do nothing but let the djinn leave and wonder what his threats meant.

* * *

When Castiel had arrived at the apartment he shared with Dean, he was greeted by a blonde woman who had been among the faces in the pictures on his desk. He neither knew her name, nor why his mind conjured her as Sam’s spouse. She was very lovely and warm, but her presence had only meant to Castiel that Sam and his family had arrived. Whatever privacy he and Dean could have had was gone.

With the djinn’s threats still on his mind, Castiel had decided to make his own privacy by taking a shower. Once he was regraced, he had no need for the cleaning process of a shower, but he still remembered how wonderful the water had felt when he had been human. It was a sensual experience that had been, perhaps, the only good part of being human. He let the warm water pour over him, removing every thought of the djinn, of being trapped. His mind wandered to warm hands and a warm body pressed up against his, and arousal swam through his veins.

“Hey, handsome,” a voice whispered throatily.

It was then that Castiel realized that the naked body pressed up to his, the hand fondling his posterior, and the erection throbbing against him all belonged to Dean. This was not, in fact, a fantasy within a fantasy, but Dean had joined him in the shower and was currently folding one large, calloused hand around Castiel’s erection. As Dean kissed his neck and ear and ground against him desperately, Castiel could say nothing but Dean’s name as if he was a penitent and Dean was the only sin. 

They switched positions so that they could kiss and rub against each other. It was glorious—the warmth of the water raining down on them, Dean’s hands, Dean’s mouth, Dean’s penis. It was a disappointment and a shock, then, when Dean pulled away.

“I just need more, babe,” Dean said as he handed Castiel a bottle of sexual lubricant.

_Oh._

Castiel was at the farthest limit of his arousal; even the idea of penetration was nearly enough to precipitate ejaculation.

Dean, however, did not wish for that at the moment. What he did desire, however, sent a wave of awe and want through Castiel.

Castiel liberally spread the lubricant on his fingers and circled his hand back to touch Dean. His finger breached the sphincter and he could feel the inside of Dean. The _inside_ —where it was hot and the muscles shuddered and pushed back against his finger. Dean moaned and whimpered and made such beautiful noises as Castiel added another finger. Castiel found the prostate and kneaded the gland with his two fingers, while his other hand stimulated Dean’s penis.

He could slide inside. A few more stretches of his fingers and he could feel that fluttering heat around him. Castiel could recall, however, through the haze of his arousal, that Dean hadn’t wanted that yet. Even though in his current state—eyes half shut, mouth drooped open, clinging to Castiel, Dean would have consented to anything, Castiel was not one to take advantage. They would have time for that later, now the only thing that mattered was Dean’s pleasure.

Dean’s orgasm was breathtaking in its absoluteness. Castiel could feel his own testicles contract as he neared his own completion at the sight and sound of him. Three quick strokes and Castiel joined in the ecstasy.

They engaged in flirtatious banter once Dean had regained control of his facilities. Castiel was extremely grateful to find this Dean did not roll his eyes at the things Castiel said. It would have been very like him to.

“I will always choose you,” Dean continued.

Castiel’s heart soared, even as his voice disagreed. To hear Dean say those words was something that Castiel had long desired, even before Dean had felt compelled to send Castiel away when he was human.

_I would always choose you, too, Dean—over Heaven, over the rest of humanity, over my father’s will, and my own life. I choose you—here, now._

_Forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Hamlet_ , II.ii.305, William Shakespeare.


	14. Both of Men and of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My triumphant return! Thanks to all of you who continued to leave kudos and comments during my forced hiatus. Technical difficulties, vacation, and illness inhibited my ability to get this finished and posted, but all my problems are solved and I should have no further issues updating in a timely manner.

Sam was behaving strangely. Human customs were still not Castiel’s expertise, but he was certain that bursting into one’s brother’s private bedroom where he was alone with a lover was not common practice. Castiel might have been mistaken, however. It was better to act nonchalant about Sam’s intrusion, than to act scandalized or lament its preventing further exploration of Dean’s body. Given Dean’s proclivity for hiding any intimacy in their relationship from Sam, perhaps Castiel’s subconscious desires put Sam into such an open and comfortable situation with them that he could walk in on them while undressed and act smugly rather than disgusted. Nonetheless, leaving the brothers to whatever they needed to discuss in this reality was the best course of action, so Castiel left them to shave and dress in the bathroom.

However, only Dean’s shaving paraphernalia sat on the sink counter.

“Hey, babe, have you seen my razor?”

It was several minutes before Dean returned with the missing razor; he had dressed in the meantime. As he handed it to Castiel, he peppered the cheek Castiel had yet to cover in shaving cream with kisses until he reached his mouth. As he kissed Castiel’s lips, his tongue darted into his mouth and he trailed one hand down Castiel’s still bare chest. His eyes searched Castiel’s face as he pulled away before closing in again for one last kiss.

“I’ve got to go back.” He rolled his eyes. “ _Sammy_.” 

“Is he alright?” Castiel asked.

“He’s being an ass about us having sex while his kids are here.”

“But surely he and his wife—“

Dean held up a hand. “Dude, I don’t want to think about my brother’s sex life.”

“Apologies.”

“Yeah, well, ours on the other hand….” He slapped Castiel’s buttocks. “Come on, get shaved and dressed, we’ve got dinner reservations.”

The aforementioned reservations were at a local French restaurant. Castiel was unsure how he felt about that. What little taste for human food he had was limited to what he bought from the Gas ‘n Sip, what he had been exposed to by the Winchesters, and what could be made in a motel room. He doubted a French restaurant would serve pork rinds, taquitos, PB&J, hamburgers, and beer. Hopefully, there was pie for Dean. The French dishes on the menu were easy enough for Castiel to understand, but he had no idea how they would _taste_.

His subconscious had apparently provided accommodations, fortunately. The owners, with whom they were apparently friendly, sent over a bottle of wine and a plate of country pate. Dean’s groans and moans over the meat spread sent heat straight to Castiel’s groin. The waiter had suggested their meals as well, and Castiel had assented to the two orders of Steak-frites with both a pan reduction and a béarnaise sauce. Castiel was certain that Dean would enjoy the meal, and it was a new sort of food for Castiel himself to try. He doubted he’d enjoy the taste of steak as much as he enjoyed the taste of Dean, however.

Sam’s wife was named Jessica, and Castiel finally recalled that she must be the same Jessica who was killed by Azazel so many years ago, whose death mirrored their mother’s. She made polite conversation, but Castiel paid little attention to it with Dean sitting next to him. Dean’s hands rested on Castiel’s leg or intertwined with his hand, Dean favored him with hot glances throughout dinner and wet kisses during desert, and Dean could hardly control his arousal as they moved together on the dance floor. Finally, he suggested they leave and go back to their apartment where Castiel could only surmise they would engage in penetrative sex. 

Castiel could feel his nerves flutter in anticipation and anxiety as he and Dean crossed through an alley. Not only had there been years of build up, but this was still something Castiel had little experience with. His one night with April was not an especially fond memory, and copulation with a female was decidedly different than with a male. He seemed to have mastered the foreplay sufficiently well, which was likely the most important part, as it would help avoid Dean being in pain or discomfort. It was imperative that Dean enjoy this experience, regardless of his illusory nature. Whatever danger Castiel’s physical form was in from the djinn, it would be worth it for this one night with Dean.

The Dean here, of course, wanted this to happen as much as Castiel did, without any of the reservations the real Dean would become encumbered by. He demonstrated this by throwing Castiel against one of the filthy walls and kissing him fervently. Arousal coursed so quickly through Castiel’s veins that his erection throbbed against his pants as Dean ground their crotches together. Castiel quickly switched their positions so that he was the one in control of their movement. He enjoyed being in control, he enjoyed taking Dean apart with his mouth and hands, and he enjoyed that Dean let him do so. 

Castiel nipped at Dean’s neck as their pace quickened. It was dirty and rough, and Castiel didn’t want it to be this way, but lust consumed him and his body moved on instinct, shoving his crotch into Dean’s. It seemed every time they climaxed together, every touch, every open-mouthed kiss, they became less able to restrain themselves. Giving in to the passion seemed the only logical course of action.

And then the click of a gun and the cold press of steel against Castiel’s back cleared his head. 

“We’re busy,” Castiel growled. He knew what this was. The djinn had sent someone to make good on his threat.

The would-be mugger issued an unimaginative homophobic slur and demanded their valuables. The djinn clearly had no idea who he was dealing with, and Castiel’s mood darkened appropriately.

In a swift, well-practiced motion, Castiel disarmed their assailant with little trouble. Dean assisted by taking the gun, and in nothing more than seconds the mugger was on the ground, harmless. They worked in tandem so effortlessly that Castiel would have sworn it was the real Dean and they were battling a Leviathan in Purgatory together. The djinn had failed in his attempt not only to kill Castiel, but to control him. For one brief moment, Castiel had everything he had ever longed for.

This was happiness: fighting alongside Dean, protecting each other, then taking his hand and going home to their bed. This was what the other Angels couldn’t understand and didn’t value; home, family, love—these human things—were what people lived for. Castiel did not know when those human things had overtaken Heaven’s ideals, but they did.

The djinn’s plots and would-be assassins were out of Castiel’s mind by the time they reached their bedroom. Naked on their bed, Dean on his stomach, nothing mattered but the heat of Dean’s body surrounding Castiel’s fingers. Castiel could hardly contain his arousal as Dean’s muscles fluttered around those digits; he moved his other hand to his own penis to gain a small amount of relief. Keeping his concentration—ensuring Dean was comfortable—was more difficult than he could have possibly imagined, especially because Dean had taken to begging to be penetrated. 

Castiel urged him to be patient, but once Dean countered with, “I need you,” there was no going back. It was effortless to imagine Dean was himself; he tensed up at the first press of Castiel’s penis as if he had never done this before (and Castiel was mostly certain Dean had never done this before). 

“Shhh…I’ve got you. I love you,” he placated, as he soothed and relaxed Dean once more.

And then….

Oh, the heat. Oh, the shudder of tight muscle around his glans. Oh, the sweet whimpers and rushed breaths of Dean.

“Dean,” he murmured.

It was beyond euphoria—beyond anything Castiel had previously experienced. The press of bodies, of minds, of souls—if Castiel had had one—drove Castiel near blasphemy.

The pleasure and love they both felt built quickly, and soon the hot tight slide of Castiel’s penis earned a high pitched whine from Dean with every thrust. He was crying and shivering and pulling Castiel closer as he reached his inevitable peak. 

“I love you, Cas,” he cried, his body shuddering around Castiel and his semen pouring out between them.

Those words lit the fire in Castiel anew, and he thrust his hips into Dean with every contraction of his muscles. It was soon over for him, as well, and ecstasy consumed his entire being.

Once again the universe, while at once vast, collapsed upon itself to contain nothing but them.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“Tell me about how we got engaged,” Dean demanded when they should have been falling asleep in each others’ arms.

There was no answer Castiel could give. The world the djinn’s and Castiel’s powers had created had not provided that information. It was rather perplexing, in addition, for a Dean of this world to request it. Dean should know exactly how they became engaged.

Fortunately, Dean volunteered the information when prompted, and Castiel was able to play along with the construction.

“Why does the job always have to get in the way, Cas? Why can’t the universe just let us be for once?” Dean asked.

It wasn’t the universe against them, however; it was their natures. Heaven’s demands were always going to be there for Castiel, and the life of a hunter was always going to be Dean’s lot. There was a reason that love between an Angel and a human was forbidden, a reason why Nephilim were abominations, a reason why Angels remained detached from their mission for humanity. Castiel would never be able to let go of the humans he loved, and because of that he would never be able to give himself fully to Heaven. No matter what Heaven needed of him, he would always return to Dean.

They made love. The emotions were thick between them, and Castiel had never experienced such deep feelings, not even for the short while he had been human. This was more real than anything in Heaven or on earth.

* * *

The heady emotions still colored Castiel's world the following morning. They had engaged in intercourse multiple times through the night, and Castiel's mostly human body could feel the strain on his muscles. His thighs and back were sore and tense from the physical exertion. He could only imagine how Dean's body must have felt, and yet Dean was still eager to continue their lovemaking in the shower. The warm water was soothing, even as the complex maneuvers required to make shower sex happen threatened to make his muscles even sorer. 

Once they had dressed, they joined Sam's family for breakfast. Watching Dean dote on his nephews imbued Castiel with longing. The djinn had dangled the idea of two beautiful children in front of him, without ever letting him meet them. Ever since Castiel had gotten to know Claire, fatherhood had moved from something he didn't understand to something his deepest heart longed for. Seeing Dean as a father--a natural to be certain--further caused Castiel's heart to ache. Family was all that mattered, and yet his and Dean's own family remained tragically out of reach.

Unfortunately, while Castiel could bask in the glow of his night with Dean and the happiness of the morning forever, he still needed to deal with the djinn's attempt on his life. Whether the djinn had the power to kill him in this realm was not a possibility Castiel enjoyed examining, but it required dealing with nonetheless. Given that he did not have to go to the hospital, he assumed Dean would expect him to spend the day with him and the family. Castiel, however, concocted a clever cover in order to find the djinn and confront him. If Castiel died in the process, he was, at least, to die having known true happiness.

Firstly, however, there was Dean's handsome face covered in sticky, sweet maple syrup that required attention. And of course, if Castiel was going to use his tongue anyway, he might as well go in for one last taste of Dean. Dean was, of course, as enthusiastic as ever, and his ejaculate spilled over Castiel's hand.

Castiel wanted to remember Dean exactly like this, face flushed, lips full and red, pupils dilated, relaxed and leaning against the wall as they both licked against Castiel's hand. 

“Your turn,” Dean growled.

“I can’t,” Castiel responded. “I really do have to go.”

“Don’t you want to take care of this?” Dean rubbed him palm against the erection pressing into the seam of Castiel's jeans. It was nearly enough to result in a climax, but Castiel held back. As much as Castiel would enjoy the orgasm, the memory of Dean was all the satisfaction he desired in the moment. 

“More than anything. If I could stay here with you forever, I would.”

Perhaps the djinn would kill him, perhaps he'd find a way out of the dream world, but he would never know this Dean again and the ache pressed against his chest.

If he had loved Dean Winchester before, it was nothing compared to the love that he felt now, having let it be known and bloom.

* * *

It had been quite the ordeal to track down the djinn. Castiel had made himself appear quite the madman by shouting in parks and a crowded shopping center, but the djinn made no effort to appear. There were also several abandoned buildings he had examined thoroughly to no avail. Finally, he made his way to the hospital and his own office, where the djinn sat behind his desk, watching the Newton's cradle swing back and forth.

"Did you enjoy my gift last night?" he asked.

"I don't understand what you sought to accomplish with that stunt?" Castiel narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "What would you gain from killing me?"

The djinn rose and rounded the desk. "Killing you? Castiel, I _am_ killing you. Every moment you are here, I am draining your vessel. I have no need to kill you here as well."

"Then what--"

The djinn held up a hand, and Castiel silenced. That this worthless being had all the power in this moment frustrated him, but he needed whatever information the djinn was offering.

"You still have no idea what you have done here, do you, Castiel?" the djinn gloated.

"No," Castiel responded. He had nothing to gain by subterfuge.

"I was not trying to have you killed last night, Castiel. I wanted to kill your lover. The reason this world exists as it is. Your deepest desire."

_Dean._

The djinn wanted him to be trapped in this world without Dean--without happiness--where he would waste away in despair.

"I'll never let you hurt Dean Winchester," Castiel barked, letting the full weight of his seraphic fury descend on the djinn.

The djinn laughed in response. "You're no angel, here, Castiel. You can only protect him for so long. And if he dies in this world, his body will die, too."

Castiel's arms dropped to his side. _No._ That was impossible. Dean was safe in the real world. Nothing that happened here would affect him.

The djinn's bland face was twisted into an expression of evil glee. "You and I are not alone."

"That's not possible." Castiel's mind had gone blank.

"When you shifted my world to suit you, you brought him here. You created a world, not where _you_ would be happy and safe, but where _he_ would be happy and safe. Your boy-toy is just as trapped here as we are."

Castiel wasn't even certain his powers were capable of doing that accidentally. He was certain that the djinn would tell any lie to torture him and control him. He was not even pondering the possibility that the real Dean had done and said what had happened in this fantasy. It was beyond his thinking. At the moment, his only thoughts were of Dean in danger from the djinn's magic.

All through the drive home, those were Castiel's thoughts. _Protect Dean. Save Dean._ Soon, however, he arrived at the front door of their apartment, and could hear Dean yelling through the walls.

"I won't go!"

For the first time, it fully dawned on Castiel what the djinn had suggested and what was quickly becoming evident. He opened the door and burst into the room, finding Dean arguing with Sam. A Sam, who, Castiel realized very quickly, had come from the real world and was not the Sam who had arrived the previous day with his wife and children.

A Sam who was pleading with Dean. “It’s done. It’s time to go.”

It was certain, then, that this was Dean. That Dean had-- That Dean felt-- Castiel looked between the two men, unable to believe what his senses and reason were telling him.

“You, too, Cas,” Sam breathed sadly. “It’s time to go home.”

"Cas?" Dean breathed, voice rough with emotion.

There was nothing to say. Castiel nodded slowly. Dean released a desperate moan, and then Castiel's arms were full, firm hands were on the back of his head, and the hard crush of a mouth was against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Miracles_ , by C.S. Lewis.


	15. That You Have But Slumber'd Here

Dean would be lying if he said he'd fully processed what Sam and Cas had just suggested. To be fully honest, his brain was pretty much operating on the repeated mantra, "Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas." And so, he did something that, had he been thinking clearly, he'd never have done in any other circumstances. In one delicious crush of mouths and bodies, he let Sam know exactly what Cas meant to him and exactly what they've been doing in the djinn dream. It was that realization that made him pull away from Cas and indulge in a bit of macho posturing for Sam's sake.

Not that Sam was creepy enough to watch or anything. In fact, the embarrassed look on Sam's face (instead of the expected bitch face) was almost worth the transgression.

But Cas was staring. And, while Cas staring was a common occurrence, this stare was heated, curious, and disbelieving. Dean had to turn away.

Because this wasn't possible. Cas didn't-- Cas would never-- 

"No, no, no," Dean barked. "This is just part of the djinn fantasy. I've been here before, and everything always goes to crap." He pointed at Cas. "You're not real." He turned on Sam, too. "You might be real. I haven't decided yet."

"Dean," Cas began.

"Nope," Dean shut him down. "Pretty boy figments shut their piehole 'til I figure out what's real and what's not."

"Uh, Dean," Sam chimed in. His sympathetic expression was still excruciating to Dean. "Can't we have this conversation back in, you know, the real world?"

"I'm not leaving here until I know what the hell is going on!"

Cas was no help. Just because the new Sam figment thought that Cas was real, didn't mean that Cas was real. It was a nice thought, really, that Cas loved him and wanted him in the same way that Dean loved and wanted Cas. However, even thinking that was ridiculous.

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?" Sam asked.

"We were on a hunt in Missouri, I think. You were on the computer doing research, and I was dozing on the bed, letting the magic fingers work their magic."

He'd been thinking about whether Cas had ever indulged in magic fingers when he was human--possibly touching himself, finding what he liked, working himself over until he came. No wonder he ended up here.

"You're still there, Dean." Sam said, bringing Dean out of his reverie. "Right now your body is lying on a bed in a motel outside of Chesterfield, Missouri. There is no djinn nearby, no venom. You fell asleep and when I tried to wake you up, you wouldn't."

"So there is no djinn?"

Sam and Cas shared a significant look.

"What?" Dean continued. "Is this an angel thing?"

"Yes," Sam answered simply.

"Those dicks," Dean muttered. "I mean, what kind of joke is this? Why are they still messing with our lives?"

A surge of embarrassment coursed through him at the thought that some angel out there knew what was between him and Cas. They always joked, sure, but some dick manipulating Dean to get some sort of perverted pleasure from his feelings for Cas crossed a line he thought even Gabriel wouldn't do.

"It's not angels, Dean," Cas finally chimed in. "It's me."

"You? You mean, you _are_ really you? All this time you've been... _real_?"

All the breath left Dean's lungs as the realization finally set in. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas mumbled, all squinty eyes and furrowed brow. It was a look he'd seen a hundred times on the real Cas's face-- _because this was the real Cas_. "I never meant to bring you here. I didn't know. If I'd known, I never would have...taken advantage."

Dean sat down on the sofa and put his head between his hands. He needed a moment. Shit--he needed a year to process this. The sofa dipped and a hand slipped against his back.

"It never occurred to me that I would be in danger from a djinn," that deep voice intoned quietly. "Or that he'd have any reason to lay a trap for me. I thought I could handle it." 

Cas's hand rubbed wide circles against Dean's back. He couldn't decide if he wanted Cas to continue or wanted to pull himself away and yell at him. The end result was he kept the status quo; it felt comforting but didn't cross any lines. Not that every line hadn't already been crossed repeatedly. Dean looked up; Cas was so close, his blue eyes so sympathetic, if it had been just an hour earlier, Dean would never have hesitated to close the distance, touch that beautiful face.

"Cas," Dean whispered. "You're trapped by a djinn?"

Cas nodded.

"Does that mean _this_ is _your_ deepest desire?"

"Being human or..." He gestured between the two of them, and Dean observed that there was less space than there had been a moment earlier.

"You know," Sam interrupted and Dean's head snapped towards him. "I'm going to go...be elsewhere."

Sam wandered off to the back of the house where Jessica and the kids were probably still pretending this world wasn't about to shatter into a million pieces. Dean turned back to Cas and the matter at hand.

"I don't want to be human, Dean."

Oh.

"Then why all the trimmings?" Dean gestured around the apartment.

Cas had the decency to appear a little embarrassed. "What about you?" he asked. "Did you not think you were the one captured by a djinn and sent to an illusion based off of your desires?"

"You just had to go there, man?" Dean exclaimed. 

"Go where?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but it was with fondness rather than exasperation. There was no doubt now that the man he had spent the last few days with was Cas. And everything he had done was because he had wanted to do it, not because Dean wanted him to. The idea was heady and arousing and, quite honestly, the most terrible notion Dean had ever faced. 

"Yeah," he admitted with a sigh. "I thought this was made of my most secret desires."

"Which are?" Cas smirked.

"To be married to you in a beautiful apartment with two beautiful babies on the way, you dumbass," Dean retorted.

"You deserve to be happy, Dean. That's all _I_ desire. Perhaps, too much, since I unwittingly joined your mind into the djinn's magic." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."

Dean waved off the apology. "Nah, man, it was good. It was great, actually."

"Yes, it was," Cas smiled in return. The air grew heavier and Dean was all too aware of the lack of space between them.

Dean did not want to touch that with a forty foot pole. "Are we having an honest conversation about our feelings here?" he bluffed.

"Either that or...foreplay," Cas deadpanned.

" _Cas_. This is big. This is huge."

* * *

Sam did not want to know what was going on the living room. He'd made a real mess of the situation not getting Dean out of here sooner. Once he'd realized what was really going on, and why Dean had fallen unconscious, he'd expected something like this, but he never expected Dean wouldn't be willing to leave. All these years, all the eye-fucking, the private conversations that excluded Sam, always standing too close, Purgatory, Idaho, and all the other crap that made it blatantly obvious they were in love, and Sam still underestimated how in love they were.

It wasn't as if he underestimated Dean, it was only that Dean had never really been that person. He'd tried with Lisa, sure, but Sam's own memories of that time were shaded by his lack of soul. Sam's own experiences with love were so different from the will-they-or-won't-they dance Dean and Cas had been doing for years. Now, here he was, faced with the love of his own life, in a world where he got his happily ever after.

"Hello, Sam," Jess smiled beautifully. "Have you decided to stay with us?" She gestured towards the toddler asleep on the bed and the little boy playing quietly with a truck.

"Can you not--?" Sam pleaded. "Just pretend to be her."

"I can't really do that. Dean barely knew her, after all, and Cas never knew her at all. This is their world."

"Right, yeah," Sam sputtered. "Of course. Nice of them to think of me."

Jess smiled beatifically. "Your brother and his Angel care a lot about you. You could talk about her, you know."

"I don't need to drag up the past."

"And holding things in has done these two any good?"

Sam had to laugh. His brother's emotional constipation and Cas's cluelessness ended up netting them an alternate reality where they could apparently screw like rabbits and not have to worry about the consequences. Hilariously, the illusion got the better of them, and Sam would spend the rest of his life teasing his brother for this. Unless this actually got the two idiots together.

"Dean would understand," Jess continued. "He wouldn't have at the time, but he would now. Maybe you could finally move on and find someone new."

"I had a girlfriend for a year."

"Big deal, Winchester," she smiled haughtily. "Even your brother managed that one. C'mon, play pretend with us for a while."

The older boy set down his truck and grabbed Sam's leg, "Yeah, daddy, play with me."

Castiel had certainly created a beautiful world for Dean, and Sam was touched to be included. However, he wasn't sure this was what he wanted still, after everything that had happened. Jessica, always, of course, but he'd long ago given up on any idea of an apple pie life. He knew, though, that this was exactly what Dean wanted for him. They'd been through so much together, Castiel, too, that all this normalcy seemed a foreign concept. But the sad and empty truth was that Dean and Cas could have some variation on this world if they took what they've discovered about each other and ran with it. They had each other, now at least, and maybe Sam would turn a corner in the bunker and find them kissing or pressing foreheads together deep in conversation. Sam, however, had had his chances and most likely would never have it again.

The child playing between his knees got to his feet and wrapped his little arms around Sam's neck. "Don't be sad, daddy."

"I'm not sad, buddy," Sam reassured the little boy with a swift ruffle of his hair.

"Okay," he smiled and returned attention to his toy.

That was as big of a lie as the one Dean had been telling himself the last five years.

* * *

They were kissing again. It was a really terrible idea, given everything that had happened, everything they had discovered, and the fact that Sam was in the other room. It was, of course, an especially terrible idea because they may have crossed a line past kissing. Cas was straddling him, knees on the sofa, and they were both hard against their jeans. It was glorious.

He pulled away gently; Cas followed the gesture and placed a soft kiss against his lips.

"Hey, Cas," Dean started. "Last I remember, this sort of thing wasn't exactly your area of expertise."

"What?" Cas leaned in for another kiss.

"This," Dean clarified. "Kissing...fucking, man. Two years ago, you barely knew where to put it, and here--now--you're pretty much a sex god. So, what happened?"

"Oh," Cas exclaimed, but his face was calm. "I did research."

"Research?"

"Pornography, Dean." He clearly considered the conversation finished, and bent down for another bruising kiss. Dean wouldn't have it, pulled away, and gave Cas his most imperious stare. "When I was human," Cas sighed. "I had so many feelings, including sexual ones, that I couldn't sort out, I--"

"Jacked off," Dean finished.

"Yes. And when I found myself here, I knew you would have certain expectations..."

"You mean djinn-world me?" Cas nodded. "Because," Dean continued. "You didn't know it was really me this whole time."

"Yes, Dean. I believed you to be an element of my dream."

"So you thought you'd experiment."

Dean pulled away completely. Cas took the hint and rolled off of Dean until he was seated on the sofa again. Dean's dick had completely lost interest in the proceedings.

"Not at all, Dean."

"You had a go with that reaper, so you thought you'd have a go with me?"

They were standing now, but Cas kept his distance.

"Are you going to condemn me for the same thing you did?" he growled. "You also believed me to be created by a djinn, and you used me as a sex toy. Am I a dildo, Dean?"

Well, that just wasn't true. Yeah, Dean used the opportunity that presented itself to indulge in a few things he hadn't let himself experience. Had Cas forgotten that the first time they made love, he blurted out "I love you" during the best part? It could barely have been more than an hour ago that he was ready to stay here until his body died just to keep what they had here. Unfortunately, instead of pointing these excellent points out to Cas and continuing the equally excellent make out session, Dean pulled a classic Dean Winchester dick move.

"You weren't exactly complaining when I let you top every time, Cas."

"Let me? You begged me."

Right. The angelic dildo. Dean would have liked to think that anger was clouding his thoughts, but it was really fear and want and the desperate need to hold onto the illusion they had created together.

"Whatever, Cas," he growled.

"Dean, I need you to know," Cas closed the distance between them. "I neither said nor did anything I didn't mean."

"Goddamnit, Cas! I love you! I love you, and if I had ever thought for a second that we could have this out there, I would have told you that years ago. But, out there, there are Angels and demons, werewolves and vampires, and fucking witches, man. And I just feel like I'm playing catch up all the damn time, and I never have time to want--to want you, to want this."

" _Dean_ ," Cas pleaded.

"I can't do this. I can't do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , V.i.2277, by William Shakespeare.


	16. Lay the Real Thing on Me

"I can't do this, Cas. What are we going to do out there? Date? Sneak in quickies between jobs and Angel politics?"

"I'm not going back to heaven, Dean," Cas admitted. "I burned bridges during Sam and my efforts to cure you of the Mark of Cain. I am no longer welcome among my family."

"Oh. That sucks, man." Dean paused, unsure if he should even go there. "So you think we could?"

He kept his voice calm and neutral, so as not to give away how much he wanted the answer to be yes, and how much he knew it could never be.

"Would you like to?" Cas's voice was its same impassive growl as always, but his face had an amused, almost curious expression, and Dean was reminded forcibly that Cas had claimed the same feelings Dean had.

They were in love; Dean wasn't alone in this. He never had to be alone again.

And then he made the mistake of imagining what it would be like. Cas in the bunker, covered in flour because Dean was teaching him how to bake a pie, Cas pressing him into his beloved memory foam mattress, Cas in the bunker shower room letting Dean know exactly how much he likes the water pressure, Cas giving him a blow job in the backseat of baby, Cas kissing him after a close call on a hunt like he couldn't stand losing him, Sam's face when he walks in on them making out on the war room table....

Cas was still waiting for him to answer when Dean broke out of his reverie, calm, but his expression had shifted to a barely perceptible smirk.

A breathless _yeah_ almost left his lips before the thousands of reasons this had never happened before came to mind. They'd be distractions for each other, obviously.

Keeping his distance had kept them safe. Heaven and Hell had long ago learned that Sam and Dean were each others' weaknesses; what would they do with the knowledge that Dean's heart and soul belonged to the Angel? And what would the Angels do once they learned that Cas's loyalty and devotion to Dean was romantic, sexual even?

Not to mention the fact that Dean refused to let Cas (or Sam) around when he faced off against Cain in case either Cain or the Mark felt like spilling Angel blood. Dean knew Sam could take care of himself, but Cas had a tendency to walk into battle with little thought to the consequences. He took on archangels and got himself killed and confronted the King of Hell when he was too fucking weak to make a stand and had just gotten out of Purgatory. Dean almost yelled at Cas for that one again, right then and there, but when he turned to Cas to do so, he found the Angel sitting on the sofa, head in hands.

"You don't," he mumbled.

"Come on, Cas," Dean whispered. This time it was he who rubbed small circles into Cas's back. "This has been awesome, but we've just been playing pretend."

"I told you I meant everything--"

"Okay, not that part. But answer me this, babe: why haven't you told me before?"

Cas raised his eyebrows. "First of all, your discomfort with the open discussion of emotions, your inability to admit your attraction to the male body, your codependent relationship with your brother...Do I really need to go on, Dean?"

_Ouch._

"But you've been cool with it this whole time?" Dean smirked. "Just an angel in love with a human, no big deal."

"No," Cas said genuinely. "I didn't realize it until I _was_ human. I told you once that when I fell, I had nothing. What I didn't tell you was that the hardest part was not having you. Before falling, no matter where I was or what I was doing, you were always here," he tapped his head. "Your prayers--your longing--were my constant companions."

Yeah, that's didn't tug on Dean's already stretched heartstrings. The thought of Cas pining away in Idaho while Dean was missing him in Kansas was nearly more than his heart could bear.

"I was alone in the world, and in so much pain. My...heart...was broken. Then you arrived in Rexford, and I knew. I knew that no matter how hurt I was, how confused and angry I was..."

He trailed off, but Dean knew what he meant.

"Hmm," he breathed, inching closer to Cas. "Sort of like forgiving the greatest betrayal of my life, even though that is so not me."

"Oh," Cas's eyebrows raised. "You've known since..."

Dean shook his head. "Since Purgatory. I maybe realized a few things about myself that I had been blind to at the time."

They were both smiling, then they were both kissing, hot and wet and perfect, and finally they were both popping buttons open, hands moving over torsos.

Dean didn't care that Sam was in the other room, he didn't care what happened later, he cared about nothing but the fact that the gorgeous mouth sucking on his neck, the beautiful hands through his hair, trailing down his back, and cupping his ass, and the thickening cock grinding against his belonged to Cas. Real Cas. Not some daydream, but the same dorky guy in a trenchcoat who Dean had fought beside and fought for all those years. Sure, they were both doing this only in their minds, but that didn't make it in any less real.

Dean tugged Cas into their bedroom; neither paid any attention to anything but each other. It was like the first time, like they hadn't been doing this for the last twenty four hours. Hands fumbled, and they both needed to pull away panting to catch their breath. Dean took the opportunity to slide their open shirts off their shoulders, then flipped them around so Cas's back was to the bed and gently shoved him back onto it. Once Cas's legs had swung onto the bed, Dean climbed over him and straddled his hips. He took the opportunity to grind his own hips against Cas's before leaning down and kissing him. Cas's mouth followed his as he pulled away.

Dean smiled down on him. "You really are something, Angel." Then he moved his way down to Cas's neck, laying a wet, open mouthed kiss just below his ear, traveled towards his Adam's apple and down to his collarbone. His skin was smooth and soft beneath Dean's mouth, and firm muscle trembled underneath. Dean dipped down further to kiss a small, dark nipple which hardened against his tongue; Cas moaned and arched his back, so Dean traced his fingers over the other one. He then made his way towards the flat planes of Cas's stomach, rolling off so he could pop the button on his jeans and ease the zipper over his generous erection.

"God bless poor dead Jimmy Novak," Dean smirked as he pulled Cas's jeans and underwear down and discarded them on the floor.

Cas pushed himself up on his elbows and fixed Dean with a quizzical stare. Dean shrugged.

"This vessel was rebuilt for my use, Dean. Technically speaking, Jimmy's soul never inhabited this version of his body."

"Well, if it's an accurate recreation, I get why Amelia chased after you for six years hoping to get Jimmy back."

Cas continued to stare with that adorable, sexy, confused expression that pretty much made Dean fall in love with him again every time he made it.

"I...uh...really like your cock, man." Dean demonstrated this affection by licking a stripe up from the base of said cock and taking the head into his mouth.

"Oh." Cas couldn't keep from moaning. "It likes you, too."

"Babe, your dirty talk gets me so hot," Dean choked out through laughter, Cas's erection bouncing against his cheek.

Cas replied by grabbing Dean, pulling him up, and rolling on top of him in one fluid movement. Their mouths came together in a filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth, and Dean had never been harder in his life. 

"Do you like my cock inside you, Dean?" Cas growled breathlessly. 

Dean nodded.

"Inside your mouth?"

Dean nodded.

"Inside your ass?"

Dean nodded.

"I believe that's the limit of logical places for me to put my penis." Cas quirked an eyebrow.

"Shut up and fuck me," Dean demanded.

They pulled apart long enough to peel Dean's jeans off, then Cas's fingers were lubed up and pushing into Dean. He was swift but gentle, quickly opening Dean up with practiced fingers. Dean grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and shoved it under his hips, then Cas pushed his legs up, elbows behind knees and lined himself up.

The first push in was as good as it had been during the night. Dean had become addicted to this feeling: the thick slide of Cas inside him, the hot scrape against his rim, the friction against his own cock between their bellies. Cas began thrusting immediately, before Dean had a chance to get used to the pressure. He kept up the same rhythm with his tongue in Dean's mouth, alternating it with rough bites of Dean's lips. He was fucking gone, driving into Dean aggressively again and again. Dean could hardly catch his breath it was so good.

The angle wasn't perfect, even with the pillow under his hips, but knowing this was really Cas and watching him come apart so quickly made up for any shortage of stimulation to his prostate. Unsurprisingly, Cas's thrusts were quickly turning erratic, and he moaned deeply, "Dean."

"Yeah, Angel, yeah. It's okay. Come, babe. Come for me. Come inside me." Dean stroked his hands through Cas's hair, and that was it for the Angel.

Cas stiffened above him and pulsed while buried deep inside him. He continued thrusting through his orgasm until he went soft, pulled out, and collapsed against Dean's legs.

Dean reached down to finish himself off, but Cas limply batted his hand away. "I'll take care of you."

Cas kissed the inside of Dean's thigh before closing his hot mouth over Dean's cock. He sank down, taking the full length of the cock into his throat and humming around it. At the same time, he slid his fingers into Dean's slick hole and found his prostate. He rubbed his fingers over it with the same desperate aggression he had fucked Dean with and Dean wailed. Every expletive Dean had ever heard and a few he made up on the spot poured out of his mouth unbidden as Cas's tongue and fingers took him over the edge.

He came so hard his hips lifted off the bed. When he roused himself, Cas was still between his legs, eyes dark, and face splattered with come. He pulled himself over Dean again and kissed him, smearing come over both their faces.

"Holy shit, Cas," Dean breathed out between kisses.

"You're mine," Cas growled and began to lick the come that had smeared on Dean's face.

"Fuck, yeah, Angel. Only yours."

His response only furthered Cas's fervor, and if it had been possible, Dean thought Cas was intending to fuck him again. Hmmm, maybe when Cas could access his grace, he could make their refractory periods go poof. They could fuck all night, every night, and Cas could heal away the uncomfortable evidence in the morning. 

"Good God, you're not at it _again_?" came a disgruntled voice from the doorway.

Cas rolled off him, and Dean could make out the shape of his brother, one hand covering his eyes, silhouetted within the doorframe.

"You left the door open," Sam grunted. "And you were so loud I had to send Jessica and the kids away, even though they're fake."

Cas grumbled, "We'll be done in a minute."

"This is going to be my life now," Sam muttered as he shut the door behind him.

They quickly pulled on their underwear and jeans and threw on a shirt. It wasn't until they had joined a red-faced Sam in the living room that they realized they had switched shirts. Cas looked at Dean hotly, so Dean pulled him into a quick, but passionate kiss.

"Okay," Sam drawled and they pulled apart. "Now that you've apparently worked out your issues, can we go now?"

"What about Charlie?"

"Charlie isn't here, Dean," Sam proclaimed. He rubbed his hand over his forehead impatiently.

"No, I mean, this Charlie. Remember, she's pregnant, and I-I want to say goodbye to her and the babies."

"Dean, I don't think there's time," Sam admonished.

"Of course there's time. Where else do you have to be?"

"He means _I_ don't have time," Cas clarified somberly. "I have the djinn's mind trapped here, but whatever processes he has in place have already begun to drain my vessel."

"No," Dean countered. "You're fine. You just fucked me within an inch of my life, dude."

"Dean!" Sam interjected. "Don't you want to keep that sort of thing private?"

Dean shrugged.

"When I first arrived here, I had enough power here to change the nature of the world, and now I can't even last long enough to bring you to orgasm with my penis."

"You too, Cas?" Sam whined.

"Believe me, babe, I did not mind," Dean smirked. "And it probably had more to do with how hot you are for me than the djinn."

"Dean," Cas admonished. "It's time to go home."

"Well, okay, yeah," Dean conceded. "But first we're calling fake Charlie and she's putting the phone up to her stomach and I am telling my imaginary babies that I love them, and I love their other daddy, and their uncle Sammy, and their surrogate mommy, and their grandparents."

Sam's eyebrows went halfway up his forehead.

"What?" Dean barked.

"Nothing. I just didn't think you could be cured of chronic emotional constipation."

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean growled, face heating up in embarrassment. He managed to subdue the dirty joke on the tip of his tongue.

Dean grabbed his cell phone from where it had fallen on the bedroom floor when Cas had removed his jeans. Ignoring the burst of heat that hit his groin at the memory--and the destroyed bed they had left behind--he scrolled to Charlie's name and hit "Talk."

"Hey, Charlie," Dean smiled into the phone as he crossed back into the living room.

"Hey, stranger," she replied happily.

"Uh, Charlie, I--"

"You're going," Charlie interrupted.

"Yeah."

"I can't say I'm surprised, but you do know I endured stretch marks for nothing."

"I just wanted to...say goodbye to you and the babies," he offered lamely.

"They're kicking," Charlie intoned sadly.

"Tell them Cas and I love them." Cas took hold of Dean's free hand. "And we're sorry we're not going to be around to meet them."

Dean had to let go of Cas to wipe away the tears forming in his eyes.

"If you wanted to know, I...I peeked," Charlie stuttered. "At the ultrasound results, so I know...what the babies..."

All the breath left Dean's lungs and he grabbed onto Cas again. In his head, one of the babies was a boy with Cas's eyes, and the other was a girl who looked just like Mary Winchester. Or maybe two girls with freckles and blue eyes, and they could pretend they were made of the two of them.

"I think I'd rather that be left up to my imagination."

"Suit yourself," she chirped. "We've got really great lives, here, don't we?"

"The best."

"I don't understand why anyone would want to leave."

"Because what's out there is real. It sucks 90% of the time, but it's real." He said his goodbyes and hung up from Charlie, turning his focus back on his brother and his Angel. "Let's do this. How are we going to do this?"

In response, Cas dropped the hand he was still holding and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute or so of random crashes coming from the closet and Dean avoiding his brother's pointed stares, Cas returned with a pair of small, engraved lockboxes. He handed one to Dean and set the other one on the coffee table, sitting on the sofa in front of his.

Dean opened his box to find a perfect facsimile of his own ivory-handled Colt. He looked down at the couch to find Cas holding an Angel blade. Well, it looked like an Angel blade, but it was flatter and thinner.

"My tanto," Cas offered as explanation. "I apparently had it custom made. It's analogous to my Angel blade and should be sufficient to kill me in this world."

"Where did they come from?" Dean asked, as he removed the gun and set the empty box besides Cas's.

"When I altered the djinn's illusion, my subconscious provided us a way out, similar to the way it brought you here and provided a Sam you would be comfortable with."

"Alright, then," Dean pronounced. "Sammy, you gonna be okay?"

Sam nodded. "As soon as you two are back in the real world, I'll follow. This dream won't exist anymore."

"Hmm," Dean huffed. "Well, it was good while it lasted."

Cas rose to stand close to Dean and leaned his head towards him until they bumped temples, his breath warm and sweet against Dean's face. 

Dean ran his free hand over Cas's gorgeous cheekbone and into his hair. "Okay, you're going to wake up," he whispered. "Things will probably be fuzzy at first, and the djinn will probably come to and will be furious. We'll be there as soon as we can." 

"I can handle myself, Dean. I _am_ an Angel."

"Humor me." Dean raised his gun and Cas his knife. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

They kissed--briefly, but passionately--and Dean pulled the trigger.

Then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Moonage Daydream," by David Bowie.


	17. Rounded with a Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine 10.21 never happened. It's a good strategy for life, and a necessity for this to make any sense from here on.

Charlie Bradbury wasn't dead. That she was certain of. As to the fate of the two men lying on the two motel beds, she couldn't be so sure. Sam had been gone a long time--longer than it should have taken to retrieve Dean and bring him home. She was also certain of that. Something terrible must have happened in the djinn world to delay them. There wasn't a plan B. Charlie supposed she could mix up another batch of the dreamroot potion and join the party, but so far everyone who had entered this djinn vision didn't leave, and she did not want to risk that.

She turned back to the computer open on the table in front of her. It was still busy triangulating possible locations where Castiel could be, based off of his last cell phone use, the maximum distance he could travel since then, and possible djinn hideouts. It was slow going since, apparently, Castiel's hunk of junk Continental made good time, and, because he didn't need to sleep, he could be pretty much anywhere in the Eastern half of the country.

Sam had called her late the night before in something of a panic. Dean couldn't be awoken, Cas wouldn't answer his phone, and Sam had already spent hours trying to figure it out. Dean was unconscious, that was apparent, but why still eluded them. Witches were a possibility, of course, and some sort of sleep spell would have certainly delivered this result. Every few minutes, Dean would let out a sound, and Sam would perk up in the hope his brother was about to awake, only to be disappointed each time. Eventually they realized that Dean was dreaming. It was Charlie who suggested a djinn (based on her own experiences, natch), which Sam had dismissed. Dean hadn't been near one, and his body was safe in the motel room. Sam had offered up Angels, particularly Gabriel, because, apparently, the infamous trickster might not have died at the hands of his older brother. It had been a joke when Charlie proposed Castiel was dream dropping, like he had in _The Rapture_ , but somehow that had become a working theory. A perusal of Dean's text messages had confirmed Cas was hunting on his own, and that he and Dean text each other a lot. Which was really quite adorable, but Sam forbid Charlie from reading any more than was necessary. So, operating on the hypothesis that Cas was trapped by a djinn and projecting that onto Dean (super romantic!), Sam got together the ingredients for a potion that would send him to the same dream world and Charlie set up a program to track down Cas. Now it was a waiting game.

Another fifteen minutes passed with no sound but the whir of the processor and Charlie's fingers tapping against the table in agitation. Finally, there was a groan from one of the bed's and Dean's eyes fluttered open.

"Dean!" Charlie rushed to his side.

"Hey, Charlie," he mumbled groggily. "I changed my mind; tell me about the babies."

"What babies?" He reached out and put his hand on Charlie's stomach; she nearly jumped back in shock. "None of my dates have the right equipment to knock me up, bucko."

Sam began to stir as well. Charlie moved to the other bed to help him, but Dean grabbed her hand. " _My_ babies. My Cas babies."

Dean was still barely conscious and mumbling nonsense, but he was getting upset that Charlie wasn't answering how he wanted. Wherever he had been while asleep, he was having trouble shaking it.

Sam didn't appear to have the same problem. He was already sitting upright and watching his brother's struggle with a forlorn expression. At Charlie's inquisitive stare, he nodded tersely. 

Charlie ran her hand through Dean's sweaty hair soothingly. Suddenly, he sat up in bed fully conscious. "Cas!" he cried out.

* * *

Yeah, Dean was running around the room like a crazy person, but that didn't mean Charlie and Sam had to treat him like a crazy person. Sam kept insisting Dean had the time to take a shower; apparently, being trapped in an Angel-djinn dream made one sweaty and disgusting.

"My--Cas," Dean stuttered. "Is trapped in a djinn nest. Personal hygiene is not my top priority."

"Dean, we don't even know where Cas is. Charlie's program hasn't--"

"Dude, do you really think he wouldn't tell me where he is?" Dean interrupted. He finally found what he was looking for at the bottom of a duffle: a silver knife pre-dipped in lamb's blood, just in case. He was pretty sure that--current situation notwithstanding--Angel trumped djinn any day, but he was not taking any chances with Cas's safety. Not when they had just--

He was blushing. Dean Winchester was blushing. He was blushing at the mere thought of what he and Cas were now, what they had done, and what they were now free to do. As true as that world had been, the physical sensations in the real one were insane. Dean could feel the texture of his jeans against his legs, the softness of his well worn T-shirt, the prickle of his beard where it had started to grow in. How fucking good would Cas feel now?

Great, now Dean was twice as red.

Fortunately, Charlie and Sam kept their traps shut because Dean could already not deal with their pointed looks.

That all changed once they were in the car. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam stared at him from the passenger seat.

"Hell, no," Dean growled, and pressed his foot down on the gas. He was speeding, of course, but they had hours to go and Cas needed him.

"You know that I wasn't surprised to find you where you were, right? From either direction. I figure Charlie wouldn't be either."

"Hell, no! I read the books."

Dean glared at her in the rear view mirror. 

"I'm completely traumatized by what you were doing, but not surprised," Sam continued. "I mean, you could have closed the door, that would have been nice."

"Oh," Charlie exclaimed. "So you and Cas--bow chicka wow wow?"

"Can we not talk about my imaginary sex life, please," Dean groaned. He glared at Charlie again, and put his foot down further on the accelerator. He'd put Sam on Highway Patrol duty so he could focus on getting to Ohio as fast as possible, which meant faster than the law thought safe.

"But when we find Cas, it's not gonna be so imaginary is it?" Charlie smirked.

"I don't know."

He really didn't know what would happen. In this new world, where he and Cas had acknowledged their feelings, he didn't think it possible for them to stay apart. Seven years and they had barely been able to stay apart; it took the machinations of Heaven and Hell to keep them from being together. Well, that and Dean's inability to admit or even recognize his feelings and Cas's struggles with his newly human heart. But here they were on the cusp of something fantastic. Something that Dean had never had before and would never have again. Something that was one in a million. Who would be able to resist that?

"This is all pretty new, you know?" Dean finally admitted.

"It's--"

"Do not say romantic, Charlie, or I am dropping you on the side of the road and you can hitchhike back to Missouri."

"Well it is," she harrumphed. "He rescued you from Hell, then fell from Heaven for you."

"That's not how it happened," Dean countered.

"Then how did it happen?" Charlie smirked.

Sam interjected, "That's exactly how it happened."

* * *

There was a terrible smell--the smell of old tires and VOCs , combined with rotted flesh, and the metallic scent of fresh blood. The smell was the first clue that Castiel was back in the real world. There had been nothing in the beautiful dream he and Dean had shared that had ever smelled like this. The blood was his own, he knew, the rotted flesh a previous victim of the djinn, the background scents the odors of the old manufacturing plant the djinn had made his home in.

His wrists were bound above his head and his arms numb from being suspended for so long, his trenchcoat and tie removed, and his shirt mostly unbuttoned to make room for the djinn's horrific devices. As he looked down, he couldn't help but remember how Dean had unbuttoned his shirt with hot, impatient hands not an hour before. Then the feelings shifted to an equally heated anger that the djinn had possibly fed off those experiences. Castiel pulled against his bonds, but the metal chains only rattled through the empty building. He powered up his grace, and a tiny spark coursed within him, little help to escape his bonds or fight a djinn. A central venous catheter attached to his chest was possibly draining him, or pumping venom into him--or both. It would have to come out if he were ever going to recover. Without use of his hands, and with the IV stand too far away, his only option was to use his feet to yank it out. The tube was suspended three feet in the air and Castiel would have to give it a fair amount of pressure to remove it from such a distance. He used whatever strength he still had in his arms to pull himself up and gain more force then leapt up and down onto the tube. The first try was a fail, but on the second, he could feel the pull of the needle against his flesh. Careful to exhale, he wiggled and eased the offensive object out of his chest. Oh, it did hurt, but he knew better than to draw attention to his activities by crying out.

Nothing but time would recharge his grace, unless a healthy human soul were willing to help him. In the unlikely event that any previous victim of the djinn were still alive, they would be in no better state than Castiel was. Indeed, what had once been a non-issue was now disgusting to him, using a human soul like that. He had been human, three times now, and while he was not in possession of a soul, he knew in part, what it felt like. Whatever had existed in him without his grace was still a part of him, and, perhaps, that was equivalent enough. 

There was no evidence of the djinn in the vast room Castiel was trapped in. Old machinery could have provided effective hiding places, but, unless the djinn was unconscious, he had no reason to hide. This train of thought led Castiel to the hypothesis that he had not awoken immediately after leaving the dream world, but had, perhaps, remained unconscious long enough for the djinn to also wake. How long had passed, however, was a mystery. 

Dean had promised to find Castiel here, despite being hours away. Castiel should feel coddled, but he knew that was how Dean treated people he loved. Overprotective, controlling even, Dean needed to keep those he loved safe, even if they protested. Sam had been dealing with it his entire life, and Castiel himself was not unfamiliar with Dean's overprotectiveness. Now that they were romantically involved, Castiel imagined it would only lead to more of the same behavior. To be honest, however, Castiel was unsure if Dean would be able to follow through with the advances made while under the djinn's venom. Their sexual chemistry was something exquisite, of course, but Dean had expressed such openness about his emotions that Castiel doubted his ability to follow through. 

Now that Castiel was recovered from the IV removal, he took better stock of his situation. His arms were chained to a pipe several inches in diameter, too thick for his human muscles to break without grace. The chains were long enough that his feet touched the ground, but not without considerable strain on his arms and shoulders. Shackles held them in place around his wrists. His only thoughts were of escape and how to achieve it without his grace. If he raised his body and lessened the tension on his restraints, he could slide the chains along the pipe above him. He shimmied over as far as the pipe extended, then traveled slowly back along it, pulling down with his restraints and looking for any weak spots. Finally, after over twenty yards of systematic investigation, he located a deteriorating junction corroded with rust. He pulled down with his body weight, but it was not enough to break the pipe. Ten feet from his original location along the pipe, one of the disused pieces of machinery was within possible distance for him to grab with his feet and knock closer if he achieved some momentum by swinging on the pipe. Eventually, he reached it, and, using his feet again, was able to knock it within easy reach. It's hollow sound echoed through the empty room. He dragged the cylinder along the pipe back to his chosen spot, and climbed on top of it. The blessed relief of the tension on his arms brought tears to his eyes, and he stayed like that until he could feel some of the blood rushing back to them.

Once he had recovered fully enough to proceed, Castiel leapt off the metal can, his chains positioned over the weak junction on the pipe. He heard it groan, but it did not break, so he repeated the action. Again and again, the pipe groaned and strained, but did not snap, until finally, when Castiel felt as though he was going to break instead, it gave way.

He was collapsed on the ground, in pain and weakened, when he heard a voice sneer above him. "That was quite a show, Angel."

Castiel raised his head to look his captor in the face. Without the alteration of the created world, the djinn's species was instantly recognizable by the blue tattoos on his face and arms. In his hand, Castiel's own Angel Blade twinkled ominously in the dim light. Circumventing any move by the djinn, Castiel raised himself to a crouching position and lunged at the djinn's legs, knocking him off balance. They tussled on the floor for the blade, Castiel's weakened state giving advantage to the djinn. Finally, Castiel got the upper hand, and maneuvered himself so that he wrap his chains around the djinn's neck. He wrested the blade from his opponent and plunged it into him, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction as he writhed and fell, dead.

Castiel found the needle from his IV on the ground and used it to pick the lock on his manacles. He was safe, and all he needed to do was wait for Dean to arrive. It was time to rest, to let his grace return, and then to be reunited with the person he loved most in the universe. He slept a bit, coming in and out of consciousness on the filthy floor, and did not hear the footsteps approaching him, nor the roar of the Impalas engine outside. He did not see the three djinns who had also made the abandoned factory their home, sharing victims and resources like a family.

He did not see his new attackers, but Dean, just stepping foot in the building, did.

"Cas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _The Tempest_ , IV.i.1889, by William Shakespeare.


	18. It's Headed My Way

Dean had made great time from Missouri to Centerville, Ohio, making a trip that should have taken six hours in four. As he rushed out of the car, he took a second to give Baby an appreciative pat for doing such a great job. He had his gun, an Angel Blade, and his regular assortment of knives in addition to the silver one dipped in lamb's blood. Sam was similarly equipped, though they had only the one djinn knife between them. Charlie was to keep look out, mostly--alright, entirely--because Dean had been unable to shed the image of her pregnant. She pouted a bit, but seemed glad to avoid another djinn.

The abandoned factory where the djinn had set his trap was an ominous gray block against a dreary afternoon sky. Cas's piece of shit Lincoln was parked outside, empty and waiting for its owner to come out. Why he wasn't sitting inside, patiently waiting, after hours free of the djinn's power sparked an extra kernel of concern in Dean's chest. His pace picked up and he was inside the old factory before his brother. There was a damp, dreary lobby with shabby furniture upside down and in pieces strewn around the room. Dean passed through it quickly and found himself on the factory floor. There were obvious signs of movement near the far wall, and Dean took off at a run to reach it.

Cas was asleep against an old industrial lubricant can, using it as a pillow of sorts. He was so adorable, that it took Dean a moment to notice that they were not alone. Three more of those infernal creatures were approaching Cas. Dean shouted out a warning, but it was too late.

Cas stirred at his name, but the djinns were already on him, one of them taking hold of his Angel Blade, which had been useless on the ground by his side. Dean rushed ahead, only to receive a warning glare from one of the djinns, who brandished the blade against Cas's throat.

"You kill him," Dean growled. "And none of you will live to see another day."

"We are not afraid of you, hunter," the _new_ leader--for Cas had obviously killed their old leader--hissed. "We will keep the Angel or we will kill the Angel."

Cas had fully woken up, finally, and glared dangerously at the djinns holding him hostage. He was clearly in no shape to take them on, so it was up to Dean to get them out of this.

"I don't think so," he responded angrily. "Your buddy there," he pointed at the dead body of the djinn on the floor. "Couldn't keep him, and you're not going to either."

"Then he will die and we will feed off you," the djinn replied matter-of-factly.

"Dean," Cas warned.

Dean understood what he was thinking: _Don't be a hero. Let them have me and save yourself._

_It doesn't work like that, Angel. This isn't a you-or-me kind of situation._

"He will be happy in our creation," the lead djinn sneered. "We will create for him a world where you did not abandon him to us. He will live there until he dies. And we shall feast."

"That is not gonna motivate me to do things your way," Dean growled.

Sam crept up behind Dean, gun drawn and ready. The djinns spared him a quick glance before apparently deeming him both useless and nonthreatening. It felt good to have him there, however, and Dean didn't spare a thought to the embarrassment he should have been feeling that Sam knew exactly why this was such a big deal. 

Cas was frozen in hesitation, which was sufficiently unlike him that Dean knew exactly what he was doing. When it had been only his own life at stake, Cas had decisively dispatched the first djinn. Now that Dean was at risk, too, he paused. If Dean knew Cas--and he had never known a person better--then Cas was likely analyzing the situation and creating a solution that would get them all out while completely annihilating the djinns. If not, and Cas was understandably not in a position to be at his full genius strategist setting, then they were both going to have to rely on a Dean Winchester seat-of-his-pants half-assed plan that probably would only work because someone was distracted.

And that was a pretty scary situation.

This was the kind of situation that ended with his mother making a deal to save dad, and dad spending a lifetime--Dean's lifetime--seeking revenge on the demon. This was the kind of crippling decision that ended with Dean brainwashed to the point that he sold his own soul to save Sam. 

And ended up meeting Cas.

They could be different, couldn't they? End the cycle of codependency and create something good out of generations--no, millennia--of patented Winchester bad decisions? Cas was a wild card, of course, but ninety percent of what he learned about humanity came from the most dysfunctional humans on the planet. Dean was far too certain that one of them was about to sacrifice himself for the sake of the other.

Their stand-off was finally ended by a loud crack from behind Dean, and the lead djinn's shoulder turned red. Dean glanced back confusedly at Sam, whose gun was the source of the distraction. Cas, fortunately, was more observant than Dean and used the momentary distraction to release himself from the djinn's grasp and to wrest his Angel Blade from his enemy.

The fight was on. They were equally matched, supernatural powers notwithstanding, each intrepid hero taking on one evil bastard djinn. The fight should have been easier for Dean, but he was continually distracted by how Cas was doing against the leader. Weakened from the ordeal, he was not his usual badass self and was struggling against his opponent. Dean didn't like to see brave, strong, unflappable Cas winded and overwhelmed by an opponent who was more powerful than he was. Even worse, the djinn had the upper hand and had Cas's weapon arm pinned behind his back.

Dean was distracted enough that he missed the djinn's claws coming down, and only just rolled out of the way before having his face scratched off. Worse still, Cas had fought his captor to get to Dean and had ended up face down on the dirty floor. Dean didn't care that he had lost his knife, that his own djinn had the advantage on him, he only had eyes for his Angel.

Again, he was saved by Sam, who had dispatched his own opponent with an Angel Blade, and gave the same treatment to the djinn who had been seconds away from plunging Dean's own special djinn-killing knife into his back. Sam saved Cas, too, and Dean was eternally grateful to his little brother.

That's right. The overwhelming emotion that had Dean still on hands and knees, barely able to catch his breath, was gratitude at his awesome little brother's fighting skills. The fact that he hadn't spared more than a second's look to make sure Cas was okay before being unable to look at him at all was nothing. Just the adrenaline of the fight.

Gnawing at him.

* * *

They'd all been quiet--but alive--when they came out of the old factory. Charlie had greeted Castiel with a hug, happy to see him safe. It was agreed she would drive Castiel's Lincoln the six hours back to the motel in Missouri. Dean had insisted, even when Sam had offered to let Cas sit shotgun in the Impala.

"You should sleep," Charlie told the Angel sitting shotgun in his own car.

"I'm not tired," Cas groused. 

Charlie shrugged. She'd figured she'd get that answer after he refused to nap in the backseat. "You want to tell me what happened back there, best buddy, old pal?"

"In the factory, or..." Cas trailed off.

"Oh, I know what happened in the djinn dream magic place. Why aren't you and Dean the loviest doviest twosome ever to twosome?"

Cas furrowed his brow in confusion. That was not a direct quote from Carver Edlund, and Charlie would deny such accusations in open court.

"The dream was easier," Cas breathed.

_Oh shit._ Dean was having a patented Dean Winchester freak out, wasn't he?

"Dean's not the kind of guy who's used to getting what he wants, you know?" she offered gently.

"What if it's not what he wants?"

Cas's face betrayed a vulnerability that Carver Edlund had never captured in print.

"Believe me, he wants," Charlie reassured him softly. "I mean, I've read the books. Whatever this is, it's been there for years. Everyone else who's read them sees it, except maybe those still stuck on brother lovin'."

Cas's sputtering cough was almost worth the involuntary gagging Charlie had to suppress at the thought of the brothers fucking. Once he had recovered, he glared incredulously at her.

Charlie could only shrug and refrained from explaining the intricacies of slash, shipping, and Wincest.

"Dean had not indicated his feelings went back so far as to appear in the prophet Chuck's writings."

"Oh," Charlie feigned casualness. "When did he indicate his feelings went back to?"

"He realized while we were trapped in Purgatory that his reaction to my betrayal the previous year was not that of a friend," Cas intoned calmly. His voice betrayed little emotion, but he leaned his head back against the headrest.

"And when do you think those feelings developed, you numbskull?!"

Cas perked up, confused. "That was the apocalypse."

"Yes, and no one ever falls in love during the end of the world," Charlie countered. "What about you?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "As soon as I began to doubt Heaven, I began to believe in Dean Winchester. When that turned into love, to romantic love, I would have no basis to compare."

These two fools had been in love for years. _Years._ Charlie was terrified that if Dean was having the freak out she thought he was, she'd never get to officiate at the weirdest wedding the hunter community had ever seen.

"Okay," she finally decided. "Maybe you should start at the beginning and tell me everything. Except the naughty bits. I do not want to hear who put what where."

* * *

"You got distracted."

"So?" Dean countered. “The whole thing was a crapshoot.”

“Well, yeah, but—“ Sam stuttered. “Dean.”

“What, Sammy? You gonna tell me I screwed up?”

“No, Dean, I—“

Dean harrumphed in response. Sam was terrified that what happened in the warehouse would make Dean rethink all the progress he and Cas had made. Dean, probably for the first time in his life, was poised to be happy. It was Sam’s responsibility as a younger brother to make sure Dean didn’t screw it up.

They had been driving for hours already, and without the adrenaline of getting to Cas in time, Sam’s stomach grumbled and his legs ached. He was too old for all this driving and longed to settle down, get a dog, maybe meet someone. These new possibilities, however, depended entirely on Dean going through with this thing between him and Cas.

“Caring for someone doesn’t make you weak.”

“What happened back there says differently,” Dean growled.

“No Winchester has had a successful relationship while hunting, Sam. Not you, not me, not dad.”

“First of all, none of us have had a successful relationship, period. And, second, Cas is an all-powerful being. He’s fought epic wars, sometimes single-handedly. I think he can take care of himself.”

Dean grumbled in response, too lost in his own mind to pay Sam much attention.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, even though Sam knew what a terrible idea it was to let Dean stew in his own insecurities and doubts. When they finally arrived back at their motel, Castiel’s car was already empty in the parking lot. Sam got out of the Impala, but Dean didn’t follow. He stayed frozen in his seat even as Sam made his way from the lot to their room. Opening the door, Sam found Cas and Charlie sitting solemnly at the table.

“Where’s Dean?” Cas asked and rose from his seat. Sam indicated the car with his head, and Cas bounded out to him, squeezing past Sam in the doorway.

That got Dean out of the car. “I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“You think I care about what happened at the warehouse, Dean?” Sam heard Cas shout.

“What happened at the warehouse is our _life_ , Cas,” Dean growled in response. Sam shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but he had to keep his eyes on the situation before it got out of hand. “What we had in there…it just _isn’t_ , okay.”

“I know that. Out here, I’m not even human. But I still love you.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean barked.

“I only know how to love like a human because you taught me. The way you loved Sam and Bobby…and me.”

“I told you, Cas, I’m not a role model. I haven’t taught you anything worth knowing. I’m the most messed up human…”

“Yet I still love you.” There was a ghost of a smile in the sound of Cas’s voice. “In the djinn dream you loved me, too.”

“This isn’t the dream world.” Dean stormed off with that and came barreling for the door. Sam retreated to the safety of the motel room just in time to avoid giving himself away.

Sam began to speak, but Dean shut him down with a finger in his face. “Don’t.”

Cas followed seconds later, his expression worried and dark.

In a surprising move, Dean turned back towards Cas and embraced him, tucking one arm under Cas’s trenchcoat. “Take them away, Cas. Take them all. Every moment in the djinn world.”

“No,” Charlie cried.

Dean ignored her and nuzzled the side of his face into Cas’s and spoke directly into Cas’s ear such that Sam could barely hear. “Please, Cas,” he whispered. “If I have to remember, I’ll die. It’ll kill me, not being with you and knowing what it was like.” He grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled it to his forehead. “Save me, babe. The way you always do. Save me from that pain. You’d never let me hurt like that, I know. I know you’ll do this for me.”

Sam was pretty sure Dean was crying, but he buried his face further into Cas and continued to whisper broken pleas. Cas kept his hand pressed against Dean’s forehead while the other hand stroked through his hair. 

“I understand,” Cas whispered into Dean’s hair. “I wanted to die when I thought we couldn’t save you when you were a demon. My grace was meaningless, my life meaningless. If you need this freedom, I will give it to you.”

“It hurts. It hurts so damn much.”

Charlie was crying, too now, and Sam had to fight his own tears. This should not have been for their eyes.

“I will do this for you,” Cas finally muttered.

Dean suddenly pulled away and faced Sam directly. “Sam, too,” he said, a note of questioning in his shaky voice.

“Would you let me do that, Sam?” Cas asked, betraying no emotion in his voice.

At Dean’s desperate expression, Sam nodded.

“I can leave your memories of Jess intact, if you would like.”

“No. No, thanks. I have real memories of her, I don’t need false ones.”

“Very well.”

Cas touched Dean’s forehead again, this time with purpose, and Dean collapsed. Cas carried his unconscious body to one of the beds and laid him down gently. He placed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead before crossing back to Sam.

“I knew it was too good to last.”

“For what it’s worth, Cas, I’m sorry. At least you know he feels the same way about you that you do about him.”

“Yes, at least I’ll have that,” Cas replied sadly before he touched his hand to Sam’s forehead and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, that's not the end. I'm sorry this update took so long. I hurt my back and writing became uncomfortable, but I'm better now, so yay! Unfortunately, work is now gearing up to be a bit busy, so I can't promise faster updates. I do promise updates, though, so don't fret too much.
> 
> Chapter title from "Ramble On," by Led Zeppelin.


	19. I Know What It Means to Be Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update to celebrate the Season Premiere! I know I warned that I'd be slow to update, but my muse totally disagreed. I am still totally busy, so I can't promise anything like this happening again. I hope this update makes all of you forgive Dean (I'm just glad Dean was the object of your indignation and not me!), as he's a pretty messed up guy and he deserves a little leeway every once in a while.

Dean was spread out face down on an extremely comfortable bed. He was also aroused; he thrust his hard dick against the mattress to get a bit of relief. There was another presence in the room. He could sense someone hovering behind him, and that feeling was confirmed by the flick of a soft tongue against his asshole. _Oh! Then this was a guy; girls didn’t tend to go straight to butt stuff. Okay, that’s cool._ The rough scratch of stubble against Dean’s inner thigh confirmed that theory. Mr. Mystery Partner had a nice tongue, and he was using it to great effect. Not working it inside yet, just circling and teasing Dean’s hole.

_Maybe he’d gone home with that hot bartender at the bar a few towns over. Donnie? No, not Donnie. Dean hadn’t been in Donnie’s bar since Rowena showed up and turned its patrons into guard dogs. No, don’t think about the attack dog spell. That’s bad. This is nice. Keep thinking about this._

His mystery partner was good at distracting him from his bad thoughts, penetrating him now with that hot, wet tongue. Dean rocked forward again into that soft, unfamiliar bed, earning a low chuckle from the other man. He didn’t punish Dean or anything, but the loss of his tongue was heartbreaking.

“More,” Dean begged.

The other man didn’t answer, but teased a wet finger into Dean just enough to make him moan. Dean could hear the click of a cap, felt the loss of the finger, then felt it return with more slick. His partner kissed all over Dean’s ass, gentle nibbling at the round rise of his cheeks. He wasn’t in a hurry to get Dean ready; it was slow and lazy and perfect.

After hours of foreplay, however, Dean was aching for it. _Had it been hours? Maybe it had been years._ He rolled over, gave his cock a firm stroke or two, and saw his mysterious sex god partner for the first time.

_Oh shit. No. No. Not him._

Cas’s eyes were dark and smoky with lust as he leaned forward to kiss Dean firmly on the mouth. He tasted musty and rich, salty like bodily fluids. And that tongue was as talented in Dean’s mouth as it was in his hole. Even through his fear and confusion, Dean thrust up to meet him, rubbing their hard cocks together, and dragging a throaty moan from Cas’s perfect, kiss swollen lips.

_This was good. This was so good._

_No. This was bad. This was very bad. This was bad because this was Cas._ And that soft, wonderful bed that was cradling Dean’s body so comfortably was Dean’s own memory foam. Dean usually knew not to go here. Erotic dreams of the Cas variety meant accidentally walking in on Cas in the shower— _what, he needs to shower sometimes in dreams, okay_ —or that recurring dream where Cas inadvertently replaces a hot female bartender and insists on giving Dean a blowjob in a dirty bar bathroom. Sometimes he’d get off just by seeing Cas take off the trenchcoat—or put back on the trenchcoat, to be honest. Most of the time his fantasies didn’t even involve sex, just Cas sticking around. Much better than the nightmares, though, where Cas leaves, or Cas dies, or Cas tells him he just isn’t worth the trouble anymore.

But this? Sex in a bed? Never. Deputies sometimes, sure. Bartenders of both genders, all the fucking time. Never in the bunker, of course, but in random motel rooms generated from all the places Dean has stayed over the years. Apartments sometimes, which resemble sets of a TV show as much as they do the places Dean has investigated for the supernatural.

He should have woken up by now. Dean knew better than to let himself spend too much time in such a dangerous indulgence. But Cas was poised above him and his cock was so huge, flushed and hard and glistening with precome. Cas rubbed it against Dean’s hole, not entering him, just massaging the fluid along the cleft of his ass and his perineum.

_Well, might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb._

He thrust down against Cas, taking the head of his cock inside, but before he could fully enjoy the sensation, he woke up.

Hard and desperate, and with only the barest memory of what he’d been dreaming about, Dean let his hand drift into his underwear and stroke himself to completion. Fuck, it was so good. He’d needed to come so bad, and even though it wasn’t enough, he was too close to indulge in anything more than his right hand.

It wasn’t until he was satisfied and panting, fantasizing about maybe ordering a toy on the internet for occasions like this, when the memories of his dream settled onto him in an uneasy haze.

_Shit_ , he was dreaming about Cas more and more in the last few weeks. Probably because the guy hadn’t shown up in over a month, even when Sam called. He’d stopped texting Dean, too. They’d had a lead on eradicating the darkness, and Cas had just ignored it. The bastard.

He certainly wasn’t getting to back to sleep after that dream, so he padded his way into the bathroom to clean up then set about cataloguing some of the random shit the Men of Letters had collected over the years.

* * *

The Bunker was still not quite home, but it was as good as. Sam figured he probably didn’t have enough of the concept down because the only home he knew as a kid was the Impala. Funny how Dean claimed that home, too. Sam had tried, sure; he’d built up something wonderful with Jess in Palo Alto, and he’d come damn near close with Amelia. This life kept tearing it all down, though, so it was with great irony that Sam was able to claim the Bunker as home.

This sort of stuff had been on Sam’s mind for a while now, since Dean got the Mark of Cain and stopped resembling himself. Sam had decided that, as long as he got his brother back, a hunter’s life was what he wanted. Well, the joke was on him because he did get his brother back and made everything in the whole world worse.

To top it all off, Dean wasn’t acting like himself again. There’d been a while, after the Mark was gone, that Dean seemed back to his normal self, but a few weeks ago it all started going to hell again. He wasn’t sleeping—having nightmares, probably—he was drinking heavily, and he’d started obsessively hunting again. This was why Sam needed to stage an intervention of sorts. If Dean was somehow still under the influence of the darkness, then they needed to figure out how and why, and, more importantly, how to stop it.

“So what’s up?” Sam asked with as much casualness as possible once Dean joined him at the War room table.

“Nothing,” Dean squinted.

“Well, you did get up at 3:00 AM this morning and organized.”

“Are you kidding, man, all that junk needs going through. I didn’t disturb you?”

“No, I just…Are you having nightmares?”

“Why?” Dean responded sharply, stood up and began pacing the War Room. “Are you hearing anything weird?”

Well, that took an unexpected turn, Sam thought as he watched Dean step back and forth. “No, I’m not hearing anything. I just assumed since you’re up at all hours, that you might be having trouble sleeping.”

“Believe me, 100 percent, I am not having nightmares.”

“But you’re not okay,” Sam prompted.

“Okay, fine,” Dean relented and sat down at the table once more. “On the basis of recent events, I will pull out the full brotherly honesty card and readily admit that I feel like crap.”

“God, Dean—”

“It’s fine,” he dismissed.

“It is not fine. Crap like the Mark of Cain/Darkness crap?”

Dean ducked his head. “No, just like regular crap.”

“You’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. That was like something outside of myself filling me up and twisting my insides into something new.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief that caused Dean to shoot him an astute stare. “For the last few weeks, I guess, I’ve just felt empty. Like there’s a big hole inside me, where something used to be, or is supposed to be…I don’t know, man.”

“Okay,” Sam released a relieved laugh. “Good talk.”

“Oh, yeah, we should do this all the time,” Dean joined in the awkward laughter. “You heard from Cas lately?”

“Nah. Probably Angel stuff. I mean, after everything that happened…”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. “Maybe I’ll try calling him again.”

He got up from the table and crossed through the door that led to the living quarters.

“Say ‘hi’ for me if you reach him,” Sam called after him.

On the Winchester Scale of mildly bad to Apocalyptic, this barely hit a five out of ten. _Right?_ Especially since they were actually dealing with a hopefully unrelated problem on the Apocalyptic side of things.

And, yet, as Sam attempted to reassure himself that everything was actually good with his brother, he couldn’t help but think that Dean may have actually given him a straight answer:

_You heard from Cas?_

* * *

Calling Cas was a no-go. Dean honestly hadn’t expected better, but he thought the guy would at least respond. It was as if Cas had seen his name come up on the phone and purposely ignored it. They’d been fine. Everything that had happened when Dean was under the control of the Mark was dealt with. Cas had supposedly forgiven him, and they’d been cool. So what the hell happened?!

Dean scrolled through his phone to find the last text Cas had sent him that wasn’t an automatic away message.

**I am an Angel, Dean. I can handle a hunt on my own.**

Everything before: normal dorky Cas texting habits, including emoticons.

Everything after: nada.

_Had something happened on that hunt?_ It was right around that time that the weird thing happened. If only Cas would communicate with him, Dean could find out what went wrong. Was he upset that Dean was overprotective? Or worse, had he realized the motivation behind that worry?

It was probably because he fell asleep with that on his mind that he slipped easily into another dream.

He was in a hospital room, all soothing greens and gently beeping equipment. It was peaceful, pleasant; this wasn’t a room where sadness happened. Dean felt wonderful here, elated, even.

He was surrounded by the people he loved. Cas was there, beaming. Sam was there, as well, looking proud and sheepish, Jody, Claire, and Charlie were there, too. As the dream came together, Dean realized Charlie was in the hospital bed. But she wasn’t sad or scared or anything bad. She was glowing, if also seeming a bit tired.

A stranger entered the room. A nurse. A pretty lady nurse. She looked soft and motherly and happy, too. Everyone in the room turned to watch the nurse come into the room. She efficiently checked on Charlie’s vitals, then cheerfully announced, “Let’s bring them in, then.”

She was gone then suddenly reappeared in the doorway with a fluffy bundle in her arms. She was joined by another sweet-faced nurse with her own bundle. Everyone’s smiles grew bigger as their eyes followed the nurses.

The first nurse tried to pass on one of the bundles to Charlie, but she indicated Dean, of all people, instead. He took the offered bundle, and watched as the other one was placed gently in Cas’s arms. 

It was just as soft, warm, and fuzzy as it had appeared. Oh, it smelled so nice. Sweet and warm like vanilla ice cream melting over pie. It smelled better than anything else had ever smelled in all the world. Even better than Cas.

The bundle moved. Just enough to get Dean’s attention. He looked down at the wriggling blanket and saw it had a face. It blinked open huge eyes; they were a dirty gray blue, but Dean knew they’d turn cerulean eventually. He lightly touched the little face and its mouth followed the contact.

Cas had passed his bundle—his baby—back to the nurse, who was now handing the bundle to Charlie. “Hey, there, Thing 1,” Charlie intoned softly. The nurse helped her maneuver her hospital gown so she could nurse the baby, but it wasn’t awkward at all. It was lovely and generous that Charlie had already given so much to the babies and was now going to feed them, too. The room was filled with nothing but happiness.

Sam, Claire, and Jody joined Charlie; Jody was giving Charlie advice and reassurances. Claire tried to look aloof and unaffected, but she was failing in the presence of all the love and happiness. Cas moved next to Dean, wrapped one arm around Dean’s waist, and placed a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek. He laid his head on Dean’s shoulder and stared with him at the pretty baby; with his free hand he stroked the blanket. A tiny hand grasped one of his beautiful fingers and he and Dean both laughed. 

Dean was sobbing before he was fully conscious.

Every detail was perfectly retained in his mind. If he closed his eyes again, he could see the hospital room in every aspect, but still like a picture. He tried to force himself back to sleep, to return to that perfect moment, but it was to no avail. The emptiness intensified inside him. 

The urge to pick up his phone and call Cas was so great, he had to forcefully still his hand. Not that Cas would pick up anyway. What epically bad timing this was that Dean seemed— _at least unconsciously, ha_ —to be ready to admit his _feelings_ for Cas, and Cas couldn’t even stand him. 

Dean didn’t stop his hand from reaching from the phone next to his bed this time. There was only one person he could talk to.

“Hey, what’s the idea waking me up at 2:00 in the morning?”

“Shut up, Charlie, like you weren’t up hacking a politician’s bank account and transferring its funds to Planned Parenthood.”

“True. What’s the disaster?” Her voice had a smile in it.

“You feel like coming to the bunker for another slumber party? I promise we will keep the wicked witches to a minimum.”

“Do I get to braid Sam’s hair?”

“No, but maybe we’ll stay up late and talk about boys,” Dean said, feigning casualness.

“Ha, Dean, but I don’t like b— _oh_.” There was far too long of a silence on the other end of the line before Charlie spoke again. It made butterflies spring to life in Dean’s stomach. “I will be there by morning.”

* * *

“Hey, Charlie,” Sam choked out, surprised to find her at the bunker door. “We haven’t seen you since, uh, since…”

“Missouri,” Charlie answered, smiling.

“Right. Well, you know it’s always great to see you,” Sam hugged her and tamped down his unease. “What brings you here?”

“I called,” Dean shouted from the war room below. 

Charlie bounded down the stairs and hugged him tightly. “Actually,” she started. “I’m here to talk about Missouri.”

“Missouri?” Dean questioned.

“Missouri?” Sam echoed.

“Missouri.”

“The state?”

“Yes, the state,” Charlie laughed. “Well, actually, the hunt that you had there a few weeks ago.”

“Is this about the darkness?” Sam asked, confused as to why that particular event left him feeling uncomfortable.

“No, it’s about Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Good Times, Bad Times," by Led Zeppelin.


	20. Gotta Hold Myself Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Thank you for being patient and for your kudos and comments! I've been released from the hold my sewing machine has over me and am free to be chained to my computer instead. So yay! Here's a new chapter to celebrate!

“So, you’re telling me you haven’t spoken to him in weeks?” Charlie slapped the table in surprise.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Oh my God, you are such a baby!” Charlie shoved him slightly too hard to be playful.

“What am I supposed to say, Charlie?” 

“Say you love him and want to spend eternity with him and maybe have babies.”

Her comment was met with a steely glare that made her wonder how many enemies had been taken down on the power of that look alone.

“Tell me—honestly—would something like that not make Dean Winchester run?”

“Well, yes,” Charlie admitted. “But no less than three weeks ago, that was all he wanted in the world.” She fluffed Castiel’s hair gently as she crossed to the other side of the motel room and sat on the bed.

“But he doesn’t remember that,” Castiel retorted and ducked his head from her caress.

“You should have said no—I know, I know—you are incapable of saying no to that man. Stupid lovesick puppy.”

“You could stand to be somewhat more sympathetic,” Cas groused.

“You save a girl’s life from a family of surgically altered psycho killers and you think you deserve compassion?!” Charlie feigned disbelief. “I tried to tell you both that erasing Dean’s memories was a terrible idea, but no one listened to me.”

“You are a very good friend, Charlie,” Castiel smiled sadly. “To Dean and to me.”

“Aw shucks.” 

“But I did accurately predict that Dean had changed his mind about pursuing a romantic relationship with me.”

“Yes, because he loved you so much he didn’t think he could protect you, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing you after having exactly what he’d wanted for years,” Charlie countered.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Cas sighed. Charlie couldn’t hold in her yawn, and stretched luxuriously before falling back on the bed. “You should get some sleep. Thank you for coming.”

Cas was halfway to the door after a painfully awkward hug (Charlie would get him trained up for proper hugging eventually), when Charlie’s phone buzzed from the nightstand.

“It’s Dean,” Charlie gasped after glancing at the screen. “Hey, what’s the idea waking me up at 2:00 in the morning?” she said into the phone.

“Shut up, Charlie,” Dean’s voice was strained through the phone. “Like you weren’t up hacking a politician’s bank account and transferring its funds to Planned Parenthood.”

_Um, no, I’m just consoling the love of your life who thinks he’s lost you forever._

“True,” she lied. “What’s the disaster?” 

“You feel like coming to the bunker for another slumber party?” Dean asked tentatively. “I promise we will keep the wicked witches to a minimum.”

“Do I get to braid Sam’s hair?” Charlie quipped.

“No, but maybe we’ll stay up late and talk about boys,” Dean said in one shaky breath.

“Ha, Dean, but I don’t like b— _oh_.” She muted the phone and turned to Castiel. “I think he wants to talk about you.”

Cas looked incredulous. “He doesn’t remember anything, Charlie,” he warned.

“He was in love with you _before_ the djinn,” Charlie refuted. “Maybe all that character development is harder to erase than a few days of memories.”

Castiel sighed dramatically and threw his arms in the air.

Charlie unmuted the call. “I will be there by morning.”

She spun Castiel around the room in glee. Dean was going to live happily ever after with his dreamy Angel if it killed him. Cas was characteristically flustered at her joyful dance, but she could see the ghost of a smile—the first in weeks—on his face.

“I knew you both made a hasty decision back in Missouri. Stupid cowardly Dean Winchester! I should give him a piece of my mind and tell him everything. Wait—what _should_ I tell him?”

* * *

Charlie didn’t stand a chance against Dean’s onslaught. Cas had been the only thing on his mind for weeks, and here he had the first clues as to his friend’s odd behavior and unexplained disappearing act. “Where is Cas? Why hasn’t he called? Is he okay?”

Charlie sat on the top of the war room table. “He’s fine. I’ve talked to him. He asked me to explain and assure you everything is fine.”

“Then what the hell happened?” Dean asked.

“He lost his phone.” 

“He lost his phone?” Sam chimed in.

“Yeah, and being the Luddite that he is, he didn’t realize he could replace it with the same number.”

“Did he get a new number?” Dean took his phone out with the single minded intent to put Cas’s contact into his phone and then hear for himself that Cas was okay.

“Nah,” Charlie dismissed. “I got him set up with the old number and everything is peachy, now.”

“And what does this have to do with Missouri?”

“Oh, that? Nothing. Entirely different story.”

Every time they talked about that hunt, Dean’s insides seized up. It had gone textbook, but Dean had gotten wasted one night and woke up feeling like there was something wrong. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling; it was haunting him. The ache had only grown over the weeks, and self-medicating with alcohol and hunts just emphasized the emptiness. It was an odd mixture of anxiety and pain that coursed through him, which must have shown on his face because Charlie shot him a sympathetic look.

“Hey, now that Sam’s filled in, let’s grab the Men of Letters’ best whiskey and talk about life,” she chirped.

They settled into Dean’s room with a full bottle of Dean’s favorite. Dean sat on his bed, and Charlie pulled up a chair facing him.

“Okay, there is no way Cas lost his phone, so what the hell is going on?” Dean fixed her with a level stare.

Charlie shook her head. “You first, bucko.”

Dean regretted having said anything on the phone. He had felt vulnerable, stripped of skin, after his dream, and talking about it had seemed the only way to heal. But he was stronger this morning and getting back into all the crap felt like a terrible idea.

“No, no, no,” Charlie admonished. “You promised me boy gossip, and I am not letting you get out of it that easy.”

Dean sighed and began. “Ever since the hunt in Missouri, I’ve been having dreams. They’re like regular dreams—you know, time moves inconsistently, things don’t always follow logic or physics—but they’re _not_ regular dreams.”

“And they all star a certain blue eyed Angel?” 

Dean hung his head in his hands, unable to look her in the eyes. “I can’t remember a dream that isn’t about Cas. And I remember every dream that is.”

Charlie suppressed the urge to shout with glee and settled for the detached interest of a psychiatrist, an expression she had long term knowledge of. A gay psychiatrist—a psychiatrist for the gay. Dean’s unexpressed gay needed to be set free and was manifesting itself in recurring dreams. “Hmmm,” she uttered without adopting the German accent her inner Freud impression was insisting on.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Dean grumbled. “Cas isn’t like dream dropping on me or anything?”

“God, I don’t think so. And if he is, that’s between you and him.”

The idea that Cas would be watching or participating in the unbelievably hot things they go into in the dreams or stared into the face of their beautiful baby with him should have made him uncomfortable, but it just thrilled him instead. The part of him that wanted to share those things with Cas was getting louder and louder every day.

Dean looked up to find Charlie smirking. “I guess that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Why is my subconscious working overtime? What happened in Missouri?” Dean interrogated.

“That’s complicated.”

“Charlie!” Dean shouted, but he wasn’t angry. He was confused and so full of a longing he couldn’t properly express.

“What I need to know from you is what are you going to do about this?”

“About what?” Dean laughed. “About Cas? Not a damn thing!” Charlie frowned meaningfully at him. “I guess that’s not the response that’s going to get me any answers.”

“No.”

Dean leaned back on his bed, so his arms held his body upright. “Well, what am I supposed to say? This…isn’t new…this thing…this thing for Cas…with Cas…” That was about the biggest admission Dean had made ever. “I’ve never talked about it before.”

“That’s not true,” Charlie countered. “You made vague references to it when we talked in my royal tent.”

Dean raised his arms behind his head and let his torso fall onto the bed. His memory foam mattress cradled his weight, and he was instantly brought back to his most recent sex dream with Cas. How good it had felt to share his bed and share his body with someone he felt so strongly for—and in the other dream, share his life. He didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Did he want to be a father? Did Cas? Dean had tried it out during his time with Lisa, and Cas, he supposed, was a father similar to how Dean had been. In some ways, a little, in some ways, none at all, and in some ways, a lot. It was that last part that hurt the most. Dean knew he could love a child as his own, and Claire had proven that Cas could do the same.

“Call him,” Charlie insisted.

“He won’t answer,” Dean countered.

“He will.”

“He doesn’t love me,” he choked out.

“Oh Dean,” Charlie breathed as she moved from the chair to his bed. He leaned into her and let her stroke his hair as he held back sobs. It felt good—like a mother—and he settled into her soothing embrace and let the tears take over.

* * *

“Cas, he’s miserable,” Charlie nearly yelled into the phone. She had hidden herself in the dungeon away from listening ears to fill in her Angelic friend on the Dean situation. “He’s worse off than you are.”

“I—I don’t believe that,” Cas stuttered.

“I just spent the better part of an hour comforting him as he cried over you.”

Her declaration was met with silence on the other end of the line.

“Cas,” she continued. “He doesn’t think you feel the same way. He thinks you abandoned him because you don’t love him.”

“I would never do that.”

“You erased his memories—against my advisement, if you remember—to save him from this pain, Cas. You remember what he said in the motel room?”

“Every word,” came the hoarse reply.

“He said it would kill him to be apart from you if he remembered what you two could have. It’s happening, anyway, Cas. He’s dying inside. This is worse than the Mark of Cain!”

“It’s what he wanted, Charlie.” Cas’s voice was hoarser and quieter every time he spoke.

“No, it’s not,” she countered. Her voice echoed in the empty room as she paced back and forth over the devil’s trap. “And I mean that literally. He didn’t want you to disappear from his life. He thought the only way he could keep you was to forget your love. And you’ve gone and left him anyway. It’s cruel—“

Cas interrupted her with a small sigh. “He has never asked me.”

“What?”

“Dean has never asked me to stay, and when I needed to stay—when I was human—he kicked me out.”

“I don’t think that was his choice, Cas. Sam—“

“Yes, Sam’s life was in jeopardy. I don’t know much about partners, Charlie, I realize that, but I think relationships need to be based on honesty, trust, and cooperation. Dean could have told me the truth and we could have worked together to help Sam. Instead, I slept in the storeroom of a Gas ‘N Sip with no belongings except my uniform vest and a toothbrush—which I had to learn how to use—and so many feelings. I…”

Cas’s voice became overcome with emotion and the sounds on the other end of the line became muted and distant as if he had set the phone down and moved away to— _cry?_ Was Cas crying? _Oh, those two ridiculous idiots!_

After a few moments, Cas spoke. “Don’t mistake my distrust for punishment. I hold no grudge over the events of two years ago. I merely find it hard to believe that a month’s absence could create the situation you’re describing.”

Charlie scoffed. “Just stop being an asshole and call him. Tell him you’re alive and you’re okay. _Please_.”

“I don’t think—“

“Coward,” Charlie barked into the phone and hung up on him.

She supposed it was her own fault. She hadn’t mentioned Dean’s dreams to Cas as evidence of his pining, but she couldn’t force herself to break Dean’s confidence.

* * *

Dean writhed in his bed, panting and reaching for something to grab onto before his orgasm took over.

He found a hand, which gripped his tightly, even as the owner’s mouth continued to work over Dean’s cock. They weaved their fingers together, but Dean’s orgasm never arrived, as the warm mouth pulled away with a soft popping sound.

“Hey,” Dean gasped. “That was good.”

Cas looked at him with soft eyes. “Is that what you want tonight? If you want this night of all nights to end with you coming in my mouth”—which was pink and swollen and so inviting Dean interrupted his words with a kiss.

The coiling sensation in his gut had subsided and with it his desperate need for climax. He was still unbelievably turned on, though, and so was Cas, his hard cock brushing against Dean’s hip as they made out.

“You know I would give you anything you wanted,” Cas continued once his mouth was unoccupied.

“I always want _you_ ,” Dean breathed.

“You’ll always have me,” Cas whispered as he dove in for another kiss. “I love you.”

Dean pulled away shyly. “You shouldn’t say things like that. I don’t deserve—“

“Shhh,” Cas silenced him with a kiss. “You deserve everything.”

Cas let his hand drift over Dean’s cock, reviving his flagging erection with a few firm strokes. Dean groaned and thrust into the pressure. Cas’s hand was so beautiful—large, strong, and tan against the flushed red of Dean’s cock. As he twisted his hand over the head, he linked his other hand with Dean’s and the matching wedding rings twinkled in the dim light.

“I’m glad I married you,” Dean murmured.

“I know,” Cas responded with a smug smile. “Do you want to come like this?” His thumb teased the slit of Dean’s cock and rubbed a bead of precome all over the head.

“You know how I want to come,” Dean pouted.

“Mm hm.”

“You’re just torturing me.”

“It will be so good when I let you come, though.” He gave Dean’s cock one last stroke and then released it. Dean whimpered at the loss, but the lubed up finger pressing at his entrance relieved the disappointment. Dean rolled over onto his stomach to give Cas better access. Cas spent less time opening him up than he did milking his prostate, massaging it with two fingers until Dean was crying in agony.

“I didn’t realize,” he gasped out, “that I was marrying a sadistic bastard.”

Cas laughed throatily and released a thoughtful hum.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean relented. 

“I just want to make you feel good, Dean,” Cas retorted matter-of-factly, but he punctuated his casualness with a merciless press on Dean’s sensitive prostate.

Dean howled as the sensations became too much and orgasm threatened to overcome him. Of course, Cas backed off just then so Dean didn’t, but Cas’s fingers stayed inside him to—finally-open him up properly.

Once Dean was ready, Cas maneuvered him onto his hands and knees, crouched behind him, then pulled him back by the hips until Dean could feel Cas’s cock make contact with his entrance. He pushed in slowly until his hips made contact with Dean’s ass and Dean was half seated in his lap.

A desperate groan released from Cas’s lips made Dean realize he was probably as impatient as Dean was, and Cas wasted little time in pulling out and snapping his hips forward. The angle was perfect, and Dean was so riled up that he reached the edge again in no time.

“Dean. _Dean_ ,” Cas groaned as his thrusts sped up. Dean could feel him thicken and spasm inside, and, when Cas reached around and gave one final tug to Dean’s own cock, he joined his new husband in ecstasy.

Dean came with such ferociousness that it woke him up. An _arch off the bed, ruin his underwear, moan in his sleep, and probably wake Sam_ kind of orgasm, which left him trembling with aftershocks for several moments. Finally, he sat up, only to jump back in surprise.

A shadowy figure was outlined in the doorway. The intruder stepped forward into the dark of Dean’s room, but the light from the hallway continued to obscure his features. There was no mistaking the shadow, however, as Dean would know that shape anywhere.

“Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "I'm Walking On Sunshine," by Katrina and the Waves.


	21. What I Didn't Know Then

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you how creepy that is,” Dean groused.

His room was still dark, but Castiel had excellent night vision as an Angel, so he could see Dean as clearly as if it were day. This, of course, meant that he had had an excellent view of Dean’s reaction to what had obviously been a sex dream—a very arousing sex dream. Castiel had felt his own penis thickening in his pants as he’d watched Dean arch off the bed. He’d become so accustomed in the djinn dream world of being welcome as Dean climaxed, that he’d forgotten that this orgasm did not belong to him. Dean had every right to his anger at Castiel’s intrusion, even though it ached through his body. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel stammered. “I was told you wanted me here.”

“Not _here_ ,” Dean grumbled.

“I’ll be in the library,” he replied, leaving Dean to clean up in private.

Had things not gone so wrong, Castiel would have been with Dean just then, bringing him to orgasm with his mouth or his fingers or his penis. At the very least, he would have been invited to help clean up the results, and— _oh_ —he had had to press the heel of his hand against his crotch to get some relief from his sordid thoughts.

Of course Dean would walk in while Castiel was attempting to pleasure himself through his pants. Fortunately, he had taken the foresight to turn away from the door leading to the living quarters, so that he could readjust himself before Dean witnessed anything.

“Hey,” Dean shrugged.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel pulled out a chair at one of the library tables and sat down heavily.

“What’s up?” Dean joined him at the table, taking a chair across from him.

"Charlie called me and asked me to come,” he answered.

“And you just came because she called, when you’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” Dean observed. His face was placid, but his voice held a note of resentment. This coldness from Dean was nothing like the desperate man Charlie had described.

“She fixed my phone issue,” Castiel explained, using the excuse he and Charlie had concocted.

“Right. You lost your phone.”

Castiel nodded tersely. “Charlie thought you wanted to see me,” he added, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

It was unsuccessful.

“Charlie thought?! _Charlie thought?!_ ” Dean shouted angrily. “What did she tell you?”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel placated.

Dean hung his head in his hands and slumped down on the table. Reaching over, Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder for reassurance.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Castiel lied. 

“Then why are you here?” Dean tentatively looked up from his slump against the table.

“I thought perhaps you needed help on a case,” Cas lied again. “Charlie was not specific.”

“Oh.” Dean sat back in his chair. “I…yeah…It’s good to see you, man.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Dean.”

“I should try and get another two hours,” Dean uttered, standing up and pushing in the chair. “You’ll still be here in the morning?”

“Of course,” Cas smiled.

Dean crossed back to the war room and into the living quarters.

_I could go with you, Dean. I could hold you as you fall asleep and watch you during the night. Place a hand on your chest to calm you if you have a nightmare, feel your heartbeat slow to normal as you relax. I could wake you with soft kisses on your neck in the morning, my warm presence at your back._

* * *

Dean took another anxious gulp of orange juice generously laced with vodka. It was one of those days. He had managed to dodge Cas and barricade himself in the kitchen with Charlie.

“I told him to call you,” Charlie objected, “not to show up unannounced in the middle of the night. I swear.”

“I know,” Dean muttered.

“Anyways, weren’t you the one crying into your whiskey that your Angel wasn’t here?”

There was still leftover toast from breakfast; it was somewhat burnt and long gone cold, but Dean picked at the remains nonetheless.

“He showed up while I was dreaming, Charlie,” he replied pointedly.

He could tell Charlie was concealing a laugh as she shrugged.

“It was a really good dream,” he continued.

“Oh,” she uttered, her eyebrows raised.

Somewhere in the bunker, a piece of Men of Letters collected supernatural paraphernalia crashed to the floor and echoed through the building. Either Sam had returned from his run, or Cas was on the move.

Of course it would be the latter.

That old saying, _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ , was complete bullshit, but, while Dean couldn’t love Cas more than he had before, he certainly let himself enjoy the shallower aspects of his best friend. Cas’s hair was so soft-looking and tousled just right, his blue eyes sparkled as if illuminated by sunlight—or grace—and his lips were so pink and plump that they demanded to be kissed. He’d removed his trench coat and suit jacket to expose the white shirt underneath, which he had rolled up to the elbows, his tan, muscled forearms contrasting against the starkness of the shirt. He’d loosened the tie he’d taken to wearing again and unbuttoned the top few buttons. 

Even Charlie seemed to notice how hot he looked because she shot Dean a knowing look.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean coughed out.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied steadily. Calm bastard; he was lucky that it wasn’t his heart doing the samba.

“You look good,” Dean mumbled. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know how to talk to Cas anymore. He was a drooling mess of hormones. “Uh—I mean relaxed.”

Cas adjusted his shirt self-consciously. Wait— _was he preening?_

“You look sufficiently well-rested,” Cas responded. Charlie nearly choked on the cold toast she’d grabbed a bite of.

Dean could not take it anymore. “I have some research to take care of in the library. I’ll…uh…catch you both later.”

“Can we talk later?” Cas asked.

_You want to talk? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather bend me over a table and fuck me in the ass until I come all over the floor?_

“Uh, yeah.”

Dean made his escape out of the door towards the war room. Once he’d reached the refuge, he leaned against the wall. 

“Oh my God!” he could hear Charlie’s voice shout. “You’re so mean! Are you trying to kill him?”

Cas’s deep voice rumbled a reply, but it didn’t carry like Charlie’s, so Dean did the only thing a responsible person in this situation would. He snuck back and eavesdropped.

Charlie had apparently calmed down, as Dean could only make out the last words of her response once she’d stopped shouting. “…and tell him.”

“That isn’t what he wants, Charlie,” Cas argued.

“He clearly changed his mind. Which I knew he would.”

_Were they talking about Dean?_

“Do you wish to be congratulated?” Cas deadpanned. “He is not fully cognizant of the situation.”

_What situation?_

“And whose fault is that?”

“It was Dean’s choice. He didn’t want the memories then, and I have no doubt he’d make the same decision again.”

_Memories?_ Dean had to quell the instinct to interrupt.

“Bullshit. You’re afraid.”

“And if I am?” Castiel responded defensively.

The heat went out of Charlie’s voice. “It’d be very human of you.”

Cas laughed hollowly. “Coming here was supposed to make everything easier. But seeing him—it all hurts more.”

“So you’re both miserable, which you have the power to change with just a touch.”

“If I believed that restoring Dean’s memories would alleviate Dean’s suffering, then you know I would not hesitate to do so. You seem to forget, however, that he didn’t want those memories because he _was_ miserable.”

Something terrible had happened, but Dean didn’t remember it. He counted on his fingers anyone who might have been killed or in danger. He and Sam were fine, obviously. Cas and Charlie were here, so they were alright, too. He’d talked to Jody on the phone recently, and she and Claire seemed fine, and everyone else was already dead. Knowing that something had happened but he didn’t remember only increased the dark feeling in his gut. A brief, terrible thought flitted through his mind. _What if he had told Cas how he felt about him, and Cas had rebuffed him?_ It seemed impossible, yet it would explain the dreams and Cas disappearing on him. Another thought took over, however, to save him from that train of thought.

_Missouri._

Charlie had mentioned this was all about Missouri, and he’d had weird feelings about that hunt for weeks.

Dean genuinely didn’t want to hear anything more that Cas and Charlie had to say to each other. He stumbled back into the war room just in time to find Sam coming back from his run.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam rushed down the stairs to assist his brother.

Dean leaned against the table to catch his breath. “Dude,” he exhaled. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Dean straightened and looked his brother as much in the eyes as he could given the height difference. “What do you remember about that hunt in Missouri?”

Sam shrugged. “Not much. It was pretty by the book, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean replied. “Simple salt and burn.”

“Yeah, then Charlie showed up the next day.” Sam moved towards the kitchen, assuming the conversation was over.

“No, wait,” Dean grabbed at his arm.

“God, Dean, I just want some more water. I’ll be right back.”

“Dude, humor me,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. When Sam didn’t join him, he gestured to another chair across from him.

Sam relented and sat down. “Was that the hunt where you got drunk?” he asked perfunctorily. “Drunker than usual.”

“Right,” Dean agreed. “What did you do?”

“Uh,” Sam hesitated. “I found out where the old farmer was buried and went to bed early, I guess.”

“You don’t remember any details, do you?”

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head noncommittedly.

“Me either,” Dean continued. “I know I drank too much, but I don’t remember the taste of the alcohol. Or why I kept drinking.”

“To be fair, Dean,” Sam contested. “You drink enough that one session probably bleeds into the next.”

“I think,” Dean began. “I think…”

He couldn’t do it. Whatever had happened that he didn’t remember, the twist in his gut told him it wasn’t Sam’s business. Sam watched him with an expectant smirk.

“Just go get your water,” Dean grumbled and shooed Sam away.

He should have been angry, _right?_ That was the normal reaction to finding out someone had taken memories from you (was there ever a _normal reaction_ to something like that, though). Dean had all the physical sensations of being angry, sure—fast heartrate, racing pulse, trouble breathing, and a vibrant heat coiled in his stomach—but he wasn’t mad. At all. He was fucking anxious, and knowing that only made him more anxious. What the hell had happened that he didn’t remember? 

* * *

“If I believed that restoring Dean’s memories would alleviate Dean’s suffering, then you know I would not hesitate to do so. You seem to forget, however, that he didn’t want those memories because he _was_ miserable,” Castiel argued.

“Better to be miserable and well-informed, than miserable and in the dark, my winged friend,” Charlie countered.

Castiel buried his face in his hands. “It was a mistake coming here.”

“Hey,” Charlie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “ _Here_ is home. _Here_ is where you belong.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. It feels stifling and wrong.”

“You are a drama queen,” Charlie teased.

Castiel huffed in reply. He was not being overly dramatic; he was being practical. There was no helping the situation. Dean had been perfectly aware of the positive aspects of a romantic and sexual relationship between them, but he still let his insecurities and fears win out. Castiel knew Dean well enough to know there was no arguing with him when he was being stubborn.

“Cas,” Charlie interrupted his thoughts. “What if Dean remembered?”

“That’s not possible.”

“Are you sure?” She raised her eyebrows dramatically. “Are you sure you didn’t just forget to erase a few things? Are you sure that you can erase feelings as well as you can erase memories?”

“I am perfectly aware of the workings and limitations of my powers, Charlie. It’s impossible,” he reiterated. 

“Dean’s subconscious would argue otherwise.”

“What?”

“He’s dreaming about you, Cas,” Charlie intoned. Her pale face lacked any of the mirth Castiel would have expected. 

“That’s not uncommon,” Castiel pointed out delicately. He preferred not to embarrass Dean about his subconscious desires, even to as trustworthy a confidant as Charlie.

Charlie smirked, “Oh, you magnificent bastard! Do you dream drop, after all?”

“I can sense longing just as I can sense a prayer. I have not noticed any increased frequency to Dean’s—“

“Nocturnal imaginings?” Charlie offered.

“If you must,” Castiel shrugged.

“Bet you’re not listening too closely, though,” Charlie insisted. “Bet you can’t bear to feel his longing anymore.”

“Charlie, please stop.”

“Bet you could easily miss that his dreams, his longings, are exactly the sort of stuff you both wanted in the djinn world,” she continued.

“Charlie!” Castiel turned all his heavenly might on her, his eyes may even have glowed blue, but he couldn’t stand to hear her go on.

Sam chose that moment to interrupt, freezing in the doorway as he, too, experienced Castiel’s unexpected wrath.

“Uh,” he stammered. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Charlie reassured him with a steady voice. “Heaven’s mightiest hero was just making a point. Much terrifying. So grace. Wow.”

“I should not have come.”

Castiel left his friends in the kitchen and made his way back towards the bunker’s door to leave. That psychic who had helped Sam and him contact Bobby so many months before who told Castiel he thought in colors, would have only seen swirls of black and red had he been around now. He passed through the door separating the living quarters and kitchen from the war room and began to climb the metal stairs to ground level.

“Cas,” Dean’s strangled voice echoed through the room. “Where are you going?”

* * *

"I…I should not have come,” Cas stuttered. He looked about as well off as Dean felt.

“Well, buddy,” Dean all but sneered. “I’m glad you did.”

“Dean?” Cas turned where he was on the stairs and made his way down them. Shit, he picked up on subtlety a lot better these days than he used to. 

“Go,” Dean urged him. “There’s nothing for you here.”

Cas’s eyes were as wide as a wild animal’s when caught in a hunter’s rifle sight. 

“Dean.” Cas approached him cautiously. “What do you think you know?”

“Why would you take my memories?” Dean blurted out. “I eavesdropped, dude.

Cas took a deep breath, obviously steadying himself. “Please don’t get the wrong idea. I only took what you didn’t want.”

“Bullshit.”

Cas rounded on him, but at the last moment, placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead, and then there was nothing but pain.

It was the motel room from Missouri; Dean could recognize that, at least. He was warm, wrapped in the arms of—oh, that was Cas. Sam was there; Charlie, too. They were crying. What was wrong? It was a few seconds before he knew what was wrong; that’s when the pain came. The wave of emotions was too much, and Dean had to steady himself against the table. He could feel Cas behind him, as warm and safe as he had been in that motel room.

“Cas,” Dean choked out. “Why would I—? Why would you—?”

“Shh,” Cas soothed and stroked his strong hands over Dean’s arms. “Let the memory come, Dean. It won’t hurt if you stop fighting.”

“No, it hurts so much.”

The fragments of memory began to settle into their proper spots.

_…take them all…_

_…knowing what it was like…_

_…if you need this freedom, I will give it to you…_

The pain didn’t fade though. That emptiness that had been a part of him for weeks echoed with it. He was still missing so much, but at last he knew why he was missing it. Cas had given him one memory—the motel room when he had asked for his memories erased—but left all the others a mystery. He turned around to face Cas, who was still close.

Not close enough.

Driven by something he couldn’t yet understand, but that he had known for years, Dean closed the distance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Against the Wind," by Bob Seger.


	22. You Live in This

Charlie tapped her fingers against the table. “So, uh, how have things been?”

Sam just glared at her over his water bottle.

“Have you seen the new—?”

“Charlie!” Sam scolded. “What the hell is going on?”

Charlie shrugged. “I need more coffee.” She bounded across the room to grab the carafe, only to pause confusedly at the empty pot. “Should I make more? I should make more, right?”

Sam merely raised his eyebrows at her.

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on,” Charlie remarked, smirking.

“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “Dean’s been acting weird for weeks, Cas has been acting weird for weeks and going incommunicado, and then you show up and ratchet the weirdness up a notch.”

Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “Weird is probably going to be the secret word of the day. And awkward. Weird and awkward. Really, if things go well, the weirder and more awkward it will be around here. This might be your last day of peace, my friend.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh at Charlie’s _weird_ ramble. “What are you talking about?” 

“Trust me when I say you are better off not knowing,” Charlie grinned. “In fact, we should probably take a walk. A long walk. Maybe drive somewhere. Get motel rooms. Make a weekend of it.”

“What?” Sam chuckled. “Are you expecting knock-down, drag-out, here? They’re really gonna go at it, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” she smirked.

* * *

Cas’s mouth was hot. Hot and wet and soft against Dean’s. How had he gone so long without this? Cas tasted clean, like he had just brushed his teeth with clouds, his lips were firm and full, and his tongue—god, his tongue—was silky and warm. It should have been no surprise that Cas kissed with enthusiasm and focus, but Dean was still taken aback by how thoroughly Cas explored his mouth. Dean threaded his fingers into Cas’s soft hair and held on while Cas took him apart. Cas’s arms circled his waist and Dean felt himself pressed against the table, so Dean did what anyone would have done in the same situation and opened his legs. And then, because Dean had clearly done something wonderful in a previous life that he was only just now reaping the karmic benefits of, Cas was between his legs. And—oh god—that was Cas’s dick. That was Cas’s hard dick pressing against Dean’s also hard dick. Yeah, there was a pair of jeans and a pair of dress slacks between them, but that was really, genuinely Cas’s thick, hard erection that was generating sparks in Dean’s groin. It was so overwhelming that Dean had to pull away.

“I…I,” Dean stammered. “I’ve been wanting to do that for like seven years.”

Cas merely growled in reply and moved back towards Dean to kiss him again. This time, he let his lips trail along Dean’s jaw line and caress the sensitive skin of his neck. His hips began to move against Dean and the sparks intensified. Dean had never been this turned on before; even his dreams, which were significantly more graphic, paled in comparison to the real life angel in his arms.

Finally, Cas pulled away, nuzzling his face against Dean’s as they separated.

“That was very nice,” he breathed.

The tension released from Dean in an inappropriate laugh—loud and boisterous. 

Cas backed away, grinning sheepishly, and let Dean awkwardly stand up. His jeans were so fucking tight it was uncomfortable.

“We should probably stop there,” Cas uttered calmly. His debauched appearance—bright eyes, full, reddened lips, and the beginnings of a hickey Dean couldn’t even remember giving him—betrayed his calm façade. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

Dean’s dick disagreed with that suggestion, and he whimpered pathetically.

Cas gave a small smile at the sound and gave Dean’s hair a quick caress as he pulled his hand away.

“I’m a little overwhelmed. We haven’t exactly done this before,” Dean breathed. A bit of rosiness tinged Cas’s cheeks, different from the flush their kiss had put there. “Or have we?”

“What do you remember?” Cas asked and put his hands on either side of Dean’s face, rubbing soothing circles onto his cheekbones.

It was bizarre having a memory he didn’t remember having. He’d experienced something like it before, when Cas restored the last moments in Purgatory after Dean’s mind had turned them into something he could deal with.

“We were in the motel room in Missouri—you, Charlie, and Sam—and I’m begging you for something. I need something from you, something I know you don’t want to give me.” Dean calmed his breath to let the memories form into coherent thoughts. “My memories. I want you to take them so that I don’t have to…Cas, what do I still not remember?”

Cas had the good sense to blush again—which was _not_ adorable—and Dean didn’t require any further explanation. These new memories, Dean’s own instincts, his damn dreams: they all pointed in one direction. He and Cas had, however briefly, been lovers. His dreams weren’t so much dreams as they were memory leakage. Dean had to sit down.

“Was it good?” he croaked, unable to look up and see Cas’s face.

“Dean,” he whispered, voice as hoarse as Dean’s own. “It was perfect.”

Dean had to laugh at that. “How’d I mess it up then?”

“You didn’t—“

“Sure as hell sounds like I did.”

Cas glanced behind him towards the living quarters. “I think we should talk in private.”

“You tryin’ to get me alone, Cas?” Dean chuckled. His dick gave a hopeful little twitch at his words, though.

Cas just smiled like the goddamned Mona Lisa and led the way towards the living quarters where Dean’s bedroom was.

Dean’s dick had never been happier.

They headed for the door, only to find Sam, followed by Charlie, in their way. Charlie smirked when she saw them, which meant that Dean looked as debauched as Cas did. _Great._

“We’re taking off,” Charlie grinned. She composed her face when Sam turned back towards them, so at least she was pretending to be discreet.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Cas whispered when he drew near. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Charlie laughed. “Name your first kid after me.” 

“Charlie,” Dean scolded. Sam had moved to the stairs so he probably hadn’t heard, but that wasn’t any reason not to be discreet. Charlie patted Dean on the shoulder, flashing a brilliant smile. 

“Uh, Dean,” Before Dean could move on towards whatever was going to happen, Sam bounded down the stairs, grabbed his arm, and pulled him aside. “Hey, whatever’s going on, don’t kill each other.”

Dean forced himself not to role his eyes. “Sure, Sammy, we’ll do our best.” He released himself from his brother’s hold and followed Cas into the living quarters.

They made their way to Dean’s bedroom. Dean took in its features. It was familiar, of course, but circumstances made it all seem new. That was his bed—memory foam mattress and all. He and Cas were alone in his room with his bed warm and inviting and unfortunately empty. And sure, they’d been in here alone before, but not like this. Not when the air crackled with promise—or was that Cas’s grace?—and desire.

Dean didn’t know how this was supposed to work or what he was supposed to say, but then Cas pushed him down onto the bed and kissed him deeply. He threaded their hands together against the mattress and pressed Dean into it, but it lacked the urgency of their earlier kiss. It was warm and sensual, but something felt off.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Dean complained after pulling away.

“What am I doing wrong?” Cas sat back on his knees, a panicked expression on his handsome face.

“You’re good at this,” Dean pouted. “You’re supposed to be awkward and unsure, and I’m supposed to show you the ropes. You’re not supposed to take me apart like a goddamned pro and leave me breathless.”

“Oh,” Cas smiled suggestively. He leaned in again and started kissing the corner of Dean’s jaw, down to his neck. “I’ve had practice,” he whispered between kisses. Every press of his lips and tongue caused goosebumps to erupt on Dean’s arms, and his unease was forgotten. 

* * *

Sam and Charlie had settled on lunch at a diner in Smith Center, her treat. Late morning sun filtered through the dusty windows. For a small town diner, it was kind of a dump. At least the service was good, as a plump waitress gave them waters and menus as soon as they sat down.

“So,” Charlie began, “what does Sam Winchester want now that Dean doesn’t have the Mark of Cain anymore?”

“What do you mean?” 

Charlie didn’t get a chance to answer as the waitress returned to take their orders. Sam ordered a chef’s salad, while Charlie went for something deep fried and full of trans fat. No wonder she and Dean got along so well.

“Back in the dark days, you told me you wanted to hunt with your brother,” Charlie explained once they were alone again. “That that was the life that you wanted. Still true?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And what if Dean told you tomorrow that he wanted something different?”

“Meaning what?” Sam pushed. He was suddenly hit with the realization that Charlie might know something about all the weirdness.

“Meaning…what if Dean wanted a third wheel on all your hunts? Get two motel rooms and you’re in the single.”

“Hey, I think Dean should find someone!” Sam protested, even though her response was not what he had expected. 

“Even if it means the end of the Winchester Brothers road show?”

“I think he should get with someone in the life. Things with Lisa, my time with Amelia—Jess even—failed because they weren’t hunters. There’s no halfway.”

“Oh, Sam,” Charlie exclaimed. “Are you lonely?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help his voice breaking or the tears stinging his eyes. “But the way we live…”

“Dean found someone, you could, too,” Charlie interrupted.

Before Sam could question what she meant by that, the server returned with their meals. Charlie immediately dug into her Monte Cristo sandwich, but Sam didn’t touch his salad. He glared at Charlie over his food, willing her to explain what the hell she was talking about.

“What?” she asked through a mouthful of fries.

“Charlie,” Sam scolded. He dumped his dressing haphazardly on his salad, using far more than he would usually. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Charlie glanced up at him with a confused look on her face. “I’m sorry,” she retorted. “But you’re the guy who’s _apparently_ spent seven years with the two of them and _apparently_ didn’t notice the moon eyed, longing stares.”

_Oh boy._ “You mean Dean and Cas?”

“No I mean Bert and Ernie,” she groaned. 

“But they…” Sam stuttered. “They’ll never…”

Charlie laughed brightly. “Why do you think I suggested we get out of the bunker?”

* * *

They kissed until they were breathless, and their shirts were rucked up and wrinkled. Cas was on top of him, firm and heavy; Dean could feel the muscles in his back flex and tense as he shifted against him. Things were moving so fast; two days ago Dean would never have thought this possible, and now they were on the cusp of something both terrifying and wonderful.

“Hey, tiger,” Dean exhaled, as his fingers played with the open collar of Cas’s shirt. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking?”

“You can’t multitask?” Cas asked, smirking. His perfect mouth was wet and swollen, so Dean didn’t try to resist kissing it again. Even after years of fighting this, it was so easy and natural to slide their tongues together. Far too soon, Cas was the one to pull away. “You are correct, though. I should explain before we continue.”

He rolled off of Dean, so that he was sitting next to him on the soft memory foam. The blankets around them were crumpled and pooling on the bed, having been pulled loose. 

“Spill, Cas,” Dean prompted.

“I love you,” Cas said, eyes wide and honest and his voice earnest. The softness in his brilliant blue eyes took Dean’s breath away as much as the words he spoke. “I love you in all the messy, human ways that Angels aren’t supposed to. I always have. Everything—everything I’ve done…”

“Cas—“ Dean began, but words failed him.

“I know that you feel the same way.”

“Way to steal a guy’s thunder, Cas,” Dean joked. His heart thumped a cadence against his ribcage.

“You told me,” Cas whispered, as if sharing a precious secret—which it totally was.

“Cas, man, I never said that to—I haven’t said that to anyone. I’d remember saying that. I’d remember that,” he broke down into sobs.

Cas tenderly stroked his hair; it was soothing and Dean leaned into the touch. “I’ve known for so long, anyway. I could always feel it; you never had to say it. You never _have_ to say it. It has echoed through my grace for years, Dean.”

“So what happened?” Dean choked out, through the tears that continued to fall.

“We were both under the control of a djinn. We were trapped in his creation together, but we didn’t know it was real. We each believed we were in a fantasy created by our own desires, until we realized…” He trailed off, smiling. “Then it became real.”

“So why?—“ Dean placed his own fingers on his forehead, imitating the movement Cas made when he altered memories or healed them.

“You fear losing those you love. You fear them leaving you. You were reminded of your fears, and, instead of clutching tighter, you let go.”

Dean could only nod. His emotions still threatened to overtake him, even as Cas’s explanation began to make sense in his mind.

“That was your mistake,” Cas continued. “It was my mistake not to trust you would change your mind. Have you changed your mind, Dean?”

His question echoed in the small space between them. Was this what Dean wanted? Despite the shit they dealt with on an hourly basis? Despite the machinations of Heaven and Hell that were certain to try and tear them apart? Despite every second of Dean’s past promising that it would only end in heartache and pain? Despite everything?

Dean nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sonnet 55, by William Shakespeare.


	23. Revels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end! Thanks to everyone who read, left comments, and gave kudos, whether you've been with me since the beginning or you're a new reader.

They were poised on the edge of something spectacular. Cas’s hand was tucked over Dean’s hip, his thumb warm against the bare skin where Dean’s shirt had ridden up. They weren’t kissing anymore, but Cas would nuzzle against the side of Dean’s face and neck every few seconds and whisper things in Enochian Dean couldn’t understand. The feelings behind them were pretty damn evident, however.

Dean was aching for it, but Cas made no effort to get things moving in the naked direction. Dean wanted to feel Cas’s skin beneath his hands, longed to taste him; he had seven years of pining to make up for. First, Cas’s dumb tie had to come off—why’d he have to start wearing one again? Dean liked the glimpse of flesh he got when Cas wore his top buttons unbuttoned. Those buttons would be next. Every button. Dean didn’t care if he pulled at Cas’s shirt so hard they popped off and landed with a plop on his bedroom floor. He could get a new shirt, or mojo them back on if he wanted. Buttons taken care of, there was only the decision to start licking and kissing the newly exposed skin or to wait until he wrestled the shirt off Cas’s broad shoulders. Of course, there was always the option of trying both at once.

“Dean,” Cas moaned breathlessly. His hand slipped to the back of Dean’s head, further impairing Dean’s ability to rip that damn shirt off Cas’s gorgeous body. 

“You taste so good,” Dean groaned between flicks of his tongue.

“You taste like molecules,” Cas blurted out.

Dean pulled away. “Seriously?”

“I apologize,” Cas blushed. “In the djinn world, I had human taste buds.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, well, they’re _my_ molecules you’re tasting, so I’d call that a win. Anywhere in particular you want to start with?”

Cas raised Dean by his shoulder so they were face to face again, then pulled at the hem of Dean’s T-shirt and yanked it over his arms. Instead of ravishing him, however, Cas gently kissed each eyelid, then the tip of his nose, each cheek, and brushed softly over his lips before kissing along the edge of his jaw. By the time he was mouthing at Dean’s neck, probably sucking a hickey into the flesh, Dean was ready to burst. He wasted no time in popping the button on his jeans and tugging the zipper down. He thrust his hand down the open fly and rubbed his aching erection.

With his hand on his dick and Cas’s mouth on his neck, it felt so fucking good that Dean moaned like a porn star. Cas pulled away, his swollen mouth set in a frown, and regarded Dean with a curious stare. “Do you intend to finish like that?”

“Well, you weren’t helping,” Dean groused. He gave one final grope to his cock before pulling his hand out of his pants.

Cas growled and undid his own pants, tugging them down to his thighs and giving Dean his first look at Cas’s cock.

“Yup,” he grinned. “That’s just as nice as I dreamed it.”

Cas only grunted again, and yanked Dean’s jeans and underwear down as well. The cool air teased at Dean’s cock for only a second before it was replaced with the searing heat of Castiel on top of him. Their dicks rubbed against each other with each powerful thrust of Cas’s hips, and Dean was certain, even through the haze of lust, that the angels had been wrong about the nature of heaven, and that it had been right here on his memory foam mattress all along.

Dean still wanted more, however, and pulled Cas closer, so they were chest to chest. Like this, Cas no longer had the power for thrusting, so the slide of their cocks together became languid and almost lazy. Neither of them would have lasted long as they were, anyway, and this position had the added benefit of letting them lock their mouths together in a desperate kiss.

Even with the electricity coursing through his body every time the slick head of Cas’s cock caught on his own, this was not how Dean wanted to come. This was not what he’d dreamt of every night. “Wait, wait,” he gasped.

“Is this too fast?” Cas fretted. His eyes were dark with lust, but he’d tempered it with open concern on his handsome face. “Is this not what you want?”

“Cas,” Dean sighed. “You know what I want.”

“Oh,” Cas breathed. He rolled off Dean just enough that their crotches were no longer in contact. It was as much a relief as it was a disappointment, but Cas split the difference by distracting him with a searing kiss. “That’s what I want, too.”

Dean grabbed Cas’s hand, separated out the first two fingers and put them to his mouth. Cas’s eyes widened as Dean ran his tongue up the length of the fingers before closing his lips over them. Once they were wet, he pulled them out with a pop; a trail of saliva connected them to his lips. Cas dipped his hand between Dean’s legs, and the spit-lubed digits made contact with his rim.

It was such a dream come true—literally—to be touched there, that he relaxed and enjoyed the light circles and grazing brushes of Cas’s fingers, leaning his head back into the pillow. He let himself luxuriate in the sensations, so that it was almost as if being pulled out of one of his recent dreams when he heard the click of a cap. Cas was drizzling his fingers with the lube from Dean’s drawer. Dean couldn’t help the blush at one of his secret pleasures being discovered, even as the rational part of his brain realized that Cas was now a—very large—part of that pleasure. He eased his pants and underwear down and let his legs drift apart. Cas returned to his administrations, but relaxation was no longer involved in their activities, as his gorgeous mouth closed over the head of Dean’s cock. One finger pressed inside, and Dean almost changed his mind about the whole thing. First of all, this was all leading to buttsex, which was new and scary. Second, this was all because he and Cas had somehow managed to admit their feelings and end their mutual long-suffering pining, which was newer and scarier. Third, because, between the finger—now fingers—in his ass and Cas’s hot, wet, gorgeous mouth around his cock, he was not going to last through foreplay.

And then Cas found Dean’s prostate.

Dean didn’t have time to utter a warning before spilling his load over Cas’s lips and chin. “Shit, shit—I’m sorry,” he uttered once the contractions slowed down and he could catch his breath. He glanced down at Cas between his legs, mortified that he’d ruined things by coming so early, but Cas was staring at him through dark lashes, the bottom half of his face covered in come. It was the dirtiest, sexiest, most obscene sight Dean had ever witnessed, and he instantly stopped caring about his premature ejaculation. “Get up here,” he growled.

Cas was still hard, of course—unlike Dean, whose spent dick was quickly flagging—and his erection pressed into Dean’s hip as Dean licked his own come off Cas’s face. Cas followed the motion with his mouth and it ended in a hot, messy makeout session. It was all still so good, even if it wasn’t exactly what either had wanted for their first time. Soon Cas was grinding against Dean in earnest, letting out a deep, throaty moan that would have gotten Dean rock hard had he been fifteen again. Actually, that didn’t seem to be a problem; Dean felt the same warmth he usually did when Cas healed him wash over his body as his cock began to fill.

“Dude, are you mojoing my dick?”

Cas narrowed his eyes and frowned. “No?” he lied before sucking on Dean’s neck.

“It’s good—it’s good. I still want you inside me.”

Cas rolled off of him and dripped more lube on his fingers. He was smart enough to stay away from Dean’s prostate this time, and focused solely on opening him up. It went faster than Dean expected, and he wondered if Cas was using some mojo to ease things along.

“Dean,” Cas uttered and removed his fingers. It was the closest to begging Dean had ever heard from Cas, and he nodded in reply—words were beyond him. He could feel the warmth of Cas’s body draw near, see him on his knees between Dean’s own legs, and just knowing what was about to happen was enough to cause a full body shiver. He fisted his dick and leaned his head back against the pillow. The thick head of Cas’s cock finally made contact with his rim, forcing a low moan out of his throat. It slowly pushed inside, stretching Dean more than he had ever been before. He forced himself to look up, to see Cas’s expression as he felt Dean from the inside for the first time. It was all still so new for him, and his gorgeous face strained with the force of holding himself back.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. “Let go; you won’t hurt me.”

Cas groaned as he bottomed out. He was so thick, so big, that it fired every nerve ending Dean had. His world had narrowed to Cas’s cock in his ass, and his hands gripping tight on Dean’s hips. Cas hadn’t even started moving and it was still better than anything Dean had ever experienced. He slowly began to thrust in a gentle rocking motion that wasn’t anywhere near enough, before finally pulling out and slamming back in. He pulled Dean higher, so Dean’s legs wrapped around his waist, and, on his next thrust, he nailed Dean’s prostate.

“Fuck,” Dean gasped.

“Since you asked nicely,” Cas growled. He let his hands wander up Dean’s torso and rolled his thumbs over both of Dean’s nipples. As his cock hit that spot inside Dean again and his fingers played with Dean’s sensitive nipples, Dean’s body convulsed with pleasure. He was not going to last long.

He took one of Cas’s hands and laced their fingers. The soft look on Cas’s face at the gesture inspired Dean to shift position so he could kiss that face. Cas shoved Dean’s legs out and back, so he was positioned on top and they could makeout between each of Cas’s powerful thrusts. Dean let his hands wander through Cas’s hair, down his back, and grabbed a handful of that ass.

“We should have done this years ag- _oh_.” Dean’s wistful remark ended on a moan as Cas hit his prostate again. He was on the edge, his cock rubbing between their stomachs, and, as much as he wanted this to last forever, he had to come or he was going to die. He reached between them, gave his cock a single stroke and then—ecstasy.

“Cas,” he moaned, as he came between their stomachs. He was still convulsing with pleasure when he felt Cas thicken inside him and fill him up. He forced himself to open his eyes to watch Cas come; he wanted to remember the look on his face for all time. It didn’t disappoint.

They stayed in their position, Cas’s dick softening in Dean’s ass, until the afterglow settled in, then Cas rolled off of Dean onto his back.

“Good talk,” Dean quipped.

“ _Dean_.” Cas leaned over and nuzzled his nose against Dean’s jaw. “This was wonderful,” he whispered.

“You know I’ve wanted it for a long time, right?”

“Yes, Dean. I told you—I could sense your longing for years, even when we were separated.” Cas ran a hand through Dean’s hair, and mouthed at his neck. 

“No—I mean, yeah—but the sex stuff…I wanted that, too. From pretty much the beginning. Like when you were just the Angel that _raised me from perdition_ , I thought about it. You may have been a dick, but you were a hot dick.”

“ _Thank you?_ ” Cas smirked against Dean’s chest. He licked up a stray drop of come from near Dean’s nipple, then gave his tongue a flick against the sensitive bud. “I did not have the same experience. Feeling anything for you—let alone lust—was forbidden. That angel would have been just as confused about our relationship as my brethren still are.”

He continued licking down Dean’s stomach, lapping up more of his come as he worked his way lower and lower. He avoided Dean’s overstimulated dick, and pushed his legs apart. It was a half a second before Dean felt Cas’s tongue against his rim that he realized what Cas was going to do. He was gentle against the sensitive flesh, switching between little flicks and deeper licks into Dean’s hole. He added a finger; it grazed Dean’s prostate and he howled.

“Do you want to come again?” Cas asked between licks.

“Is that even possible?”

Cas looked up from his task; he cocked his eyebrow imperiously. His gorgeous lips were swollen and shiny with come and lube. Dean could definitely come again with that sight.

“You’ll have to come like this, though. I won’t touch your dick, and neither will you.”

Dean whimpered. “Yeah.”

Another warm wave of grace and Dean was hard a third time. Cas urged him onto his stomach, then resumed sucking and licking his own come out of Dean’s hole. The knuckles of one hand massaged the spot behind Dean’s balls, while he worked a finger of the other hand in beside his tongue. Dean writhed against the pressure; the friction of the sheets against his dick was just enough that he wasn’t even tempted to break the rules. Finally, Cas focused his attention on that magical bundle of nerves, milking it, rubbing it, and forcing another orgasm out of Dean. Waves of pleasure washed over him as he spasmed and spilled out all over his stomach and the sheets.

Dean was completely spent; sleep threatened to overtake him. He barely registered Cas crawling up the bed and settling in against his side.

“Sleep, Dean. I’ll watch over you.” Cas pressed a kiss to the side of Dean’s head.

“Still creepy,” Dean mumbled, but he settled against Cas’s warm chest and fell asleep.

* * *

Charlie and Sam had finished with lunch, even lingering over dessert and coffee, but Sam still wasn’t willing to go back to the bunker. Charlie’s suggestion that Dean and Cas were finally getting over themselves and getting together was a complete surprise. He would prefer coming home to the fallout from another epic fight than to what Charlie was suggesting. He’d caught Dean in flagrante delicto before, and that wasn’t a visual he ever wanted to experience again. Especially with Cas involved.

They’d decided to kill time by picking up groceries and supplies. Their first stop was a hardware store, where they picked up rock salt, wood for stakes, and other hunting supplies. They stopped by the Post Office to pick up what little mail they received from their P.O. Box and see if they’d received any packages—Dean had picked up a bad habit of online shopping when he was unhappy.

At the grocery store, Sam went for all his usual favorites in the produce section. Their selection of organic vegetables was scarce, but at least everything was fresh. 

“Don’t pick anything you’d expect Dean to cook. I suspect he’s not going to be interested in food for a while.” Charlie reminded him when he picked up a package of ground beef.

“God, Charlie,” Sam groaned. “You really think he and Cas are…together?”

“Dean wants to; Castiel wants to. The only thing keeping them from… _it_ …is their crap.”

“What’s left other than their crap?” Sam asked with a sardonic laugh.

“True love,” Charlie sighed, and then stopped in front of the dry soup packages. “We should stock up on ramen.” Sam fixed her with a disapproving glare. “I’m not cooking,” she snickered.

“Do you have any idea how much sodium is in that stuff?”

“Do I look like I care?” Charlie rebutted. “I mean, I could just abandon you to the sex noises and bodily fluids—take off onto the open road, just me and my ramen noodles.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sam warned. 

Charlie’s defiant stare wore him down, and he piled cans of reduced sodium soup into the cart as a compromise. She shrugged and tossed in her gross ramen packets.

They made their way around the store, eventually finding themselves in the personal care aisle. Charlie grabbed some feminine hygiene things that Sam didn’t want to know about.

“We should grab more lube for the lovebirds,” she mused as she browsed that section.

“Charlie!” Sam gasped. “I do not want to think about my brother putting things in places!”

For some reason, this made Charlie crack up instead of offering profuse apologies like she should have. She belly laughed until she couldn’t breathe and other shoppers peeked down the aisle to see what the commotion was.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked once she had calmed down.

The question prompted another rash of giggles, but Charlie powered through. “It’s just—you think your brother’s a top?”

“Charlie!” Sam yelled.

“It’s not like you weren’t gonna find that out when you got home to find them doin’ it all over your research on a table in the library.”

“Please stop,” Sam begged, he left Charlie to find something that wouldn’t scar him for life. She followed close behind anyway, uttering a litany of sex positions he could find his brother in when they got home. He wished he had a second underground bunker to escape to.

* * *

Dean had had another one of his dreams. At least this one hadn’t left him desperate and wanting, though that meant he’d have to change his underwear. Except he didn’t seem to be wearing underwear; that, at least, was convenient. Man, he was having more wet dreams than he’d had at fourteen. This one had been spectacular, and so realistic that Dean could swear his ass was actually sore. He shuddered to think that he’d stuck his fingers in there unlubed while he slept. Of course, that would be nothing compared to the torture he’d put himself through emotionally: Cas loved him, wanted to be with him, knew Dean loved him, too. He rolled over in his empty bed and groaned.

The sound of water running jolted him to full wakefulness. Cas was standing by the sink in Dean’s room, rinsing out a washcloth, completely naked.

“You should get more sleep. I know your dreams have been keeping you up,” he intoned. He set the washcloth down on the edge of the sink, and returned to Dean and the warmth of his bed.

Dean felt the skin on his stomach, it was still damp from where Cas had used the washcloth to clean him up. “How long have I been out.”

“Not even ten minutes.” Cas sank back into the bed, and Dean opened his arms to welcome him back.

“I thought I was having another dream,” Dean laughed uneasily.

“I hope you’re pleased to find out that isn’t the case.” Cas kissed the top of Dean’s head and ran his fingers through his hair. Dean refrained from purring like a pleased cat at the sensation.

“Mm hmm,” he murmured instead. He snuggled against Cas’s chest and pulled the sheet up around them. He had never been more comfortable in his life, but sleep wouldn’t come.

“I can help,” Cas breathed into his hair.

“You want to mojo me to sleep?”

“Or that,” Cas smirked.

“Later,” Dean smiled. “It’s just…if we’re gonna do this, I need my memories back.”

Cas hesitated. “Are you certain?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want them?”

Cas sat up and the blanket slipped to pool at his waist. “You didn’t want them before.”

“Hey.” Dean smoothed his hand over Cas’s side, letting his fingers trace the edges of the Enochian warding tattooed there. “I thought we both agreed that was a mistake.”

“Well, yes, but what if…” He trailed off, eyes downcast. 

Dean sat up himself and cupped Cas’s chin with his free hand, letting the other continue its soothing journey across Cas’s ribs. “What if…what?”

“In the djinn world, you weren’t a hunter.”

“I know, Cas. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“What we had there—Dean, it’s not possible here. You had a job you loved, we had a home together, I was human; there were going to be children.”

_Oh._ “Going to be like they weren’t born yet?”

“Yes.” Cas squinted confusedly. “They were to be born via gestational host.”

“Charlie?” All the breath had left Dean’s lungs. “Cas, I dreamed that.”

Cas shifted in bed, unselfconscious of his nakedness, and gripped Dean’s shoulder. “Charlie told me that you were having suspicious dreams, but it’s not possible for you to have remembered that.”

Dean’s dreams were still so clear in his mind, it was easy to recall the details. “We had twins—two perfect babies. One had your eyes. It hurt so bad to know I was never going to have that.”

Tears began to fall, unbidden, just as they had that night. This time, however, he had two strong arms holding him, pulling him towards a warm chest. He breathed in Cas’s ozone scent between sobs, and it soothed him. Somehow, this was more intimate than anything else they had done that day. “I’m sorry I can’t give you that life,” Cas whispered, kissing the top of his head.

“Hey,” Dean choked out. “That ship sailed a long time ago, buddy. It’s not your fault fate had me in its crosshairs.”

“I think that’s debatable.” Cas’s face was so soft and open, it was almost infuriating to Dean. He was so beautiful, so wonderful, and—for fuck’s sake—he was Dean’s.

Dean pulled away suddenly. “So I can’t have an apple pie life—maybe I don’t want one, huh? Maybe I want a cherry pie life or a pecan pie life! Maybe I can have that! Maybe we can have _this_.”

Before Cas could respond that he didn’t understand what a cherry pie life would entail, Dean kissed him. As their tongues tangled languidly, Dean was struck by the warm feeling blossoming in his chest that they had done this before. Not just that afternoon, but many times in many places. He remembered kissing in the kitchen of an unfamiliar apartment, kissing on a bed he knew was theirs, kissing in the shower, kissing on the sofa between emotional confessions, kissing goodbye with weapons in hand. There were other memories, too: sex—lots of it, letting Cas lead while they danced, Charlie’s swollen stomach and endless support, cooking together, Sam and his beautiful family, fooling around in an alley, fighting together, fighting each other, and the life-changing realization that what had happened had been real.

He pulled away. “That’s some trick,” he breathed. The return of his memories didn’t hurt this time because they weren’t painful memories. Some of them were hot, some were bittersweet, and some were beautiful, and, once again, they were his to remember.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked. His brows were furrowed in concern as he examined Dean’s face. 

Dean wiped his face self-consciously, rubbing the tears out of his eyes. The time for crying was done. “I’m good, Cas.”

* * *

The cart was full of everything people who lived in an underground bunker and hunted monsters could need for food. Sam had ingredients for his smoothies and salads, they had ground beef for burgers, chili, and tacos, and sodium-filled junk food for Dean and Charlie. They’d even thrown in the fixings for peanut butter and jelly and some pork rinds in case Cas wanted to indulge.

Sam had grabbed a set of ear plugs just in case, and somehow Charlie had won the lube argument. She could pass it on to the _lovebirds_ if it was so damn important to her; Sam wanted nothing to do with it.

There were only one or two cash registers open, so lines were long. Charlie browsed the tabloids while they waited. “Hey, isn’t this a wendigo?” She showed Sam a picture of a purported Dog-boy.

“No, _that_ is photoshopped.” Sam rolled his eyes fondly. He pointed to a picture on the adjacent page, where an ominous humanoid figure had glowing eyes. “However, that’s a shapeshifter, not an alien. Aliens don’t exist.”

Charlie tossed the rag into the cart along with their groceries. “What? It’s research,” she said defensively.

They finally got through the line, and Sam made quick work of piling their groceries on the conveyer belt. So close to home, Sam couldn’t rely on credit card fraud because they couldn’t risk losing a grocery store. Lebanon was practically a ghost town, and it would make things twice as hard if they had to go farther out of their way for basic supplies. Sam pulled out his wallet to get cash from pool hustling and poker games to pay for everything. It would probably tap him out, but it was going to be worth it. Maybe he’d head to Wichita or Manhattan to earn some more and give Dean and Cas some privacy in the bunker. 

“Are you sure you’re right about Dean and Cas?” he asked Charlie in a whisper. 

“One hundred percent positive,” Charlie assured him.

“But what changed?”

“Oh,” Charlie muttered, as if something was just occurring to her. “I don’t think I can tell you that. It’s not my place.”

Whatever response Sam had to that was interrupted by the chirp of his phone. The text was from Eileen:

**How do you kill a kitsune?**

“Who’s the text from?” Charlie tried to peek at Sam’s phone, but he instinctively held it away from her.

“A fellow hunter. I should answer this. You mind paying?” He handed the cash to Charlie and stepped away to write a response in private.

_You sure it’s a kitsune? They’re really rare._

**Anything else eat pituitary glands?**

_No. Where are you? I’ve handled kitsune before; I can help._

**Cheyenne.**

_I’ll be there by tomorrow._

“What’s that smile for?” Charlie asked with a pleased smirk. “Or should I say _who_?”

“Uh,” Sam hesitated. “She’s a hunter we met on a case a few months back. Eileen.”

Charlie’s smile broadened. “Are you going to go see her?”

“Yeah. She could use my help and I’d rather not be around if things get gross around the bunker.”

“Is _that_ why you’re going?” She took the bag of groceries the bagger handed her and dropped it in the cart to punctuate her point. 

“Yes.”

“Sam, let me introduce this magical loneliness cure called other people. In this case, _pretty female hunter_ other people.”

“It’s not like that,” Sam argued.

“Would you like it to be like that?” 

They’d reached Charlie’s car and moved the groceries into the trunk. It was too full to hold anything more, so they put the last two bags on the back seat instead. Sam welcomed the distraction. As soon as they were seated in the car, however, she started up again, ribbing him about Eileen and dropping not so subtle hints.

“Okay, okay—maybe I would like it to be _like that_. She’s strong and beautiful and a badass hunter, and sometimes we text and it’s not about the job. Happy?”

“That’s not a bad word, you know.”

“What?—happy? It’s not exactly something I’m used to.”

They reached the freeway; there were a few cars on the road moving at a quick pace. Charlie had dropped the subject of Eileen, but Sam was still mulling over it. Eileen was great, and she and Sam had really made a connection. He was pretty sure it could be more; maybe it was worth taking a chance.

* * *

With Sam and Charlie still gone, there was no need for Dean and Cas to stay in bed. They’d moved to the shower pretty quick, and Dean got to fulfill his longstanding fantasy and get naked and wet with Cas under the amazing shower pressure of the bunker’s shower room. He’d put his knees at risk, but finally got Cas’s dick in his mouth in the real world. Dreams had nothing on reality. Of course, in the djinn dream, Cas hadn’t had his mojo to do things like obliterate refractory periods and hold back Dean’s orgasm until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

By the time Sam and Charlie came back, Dean and Cas had moved to the library—fully clothed. 

“The furnace didn’t burn them,” Cas whispered, his forehead pressed against Dean’s. “But the king saw me—my vessel—and he believed.”

“And that got the entire city of Babylon to believe in God?” Dean chuckled. 

“For a while.” Cas’s deadpan delivery made Dean want to nuzzle against Cas’s face. Since there was no longer anything keeping him from it, he went ahead and did so, complete with gentle kisses.

Sam walked through the war room with one hand over his eyes. “Uh, are you guys decent?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “Why wouldn’t we—Charlie! What did you tell him?”

“Everything,” Charlie answered.

“Everything?” Dean and Cas asked in stereo.

“Oh that’s cute,” she smirked. 

They had their arms full of groceries and other supplies, so Cas and Dean helped them carry it all to the kitchen to be put away. Cas’s hand pressed against the small of Dean’s back as they walked; the little point of contact felt huge after everything they’d been through.

“Should I make burgers for dinner?” Dean asked after eyeing the ingredients among the groceries.

“We figured you wouldn’t be in the mood,” Sam said awkwardly. 

“I’ve got to keep up my strength,” Dean joked. 

“Yeah, on that subject,” Sam began. “I’ve got a case in Wyoming. I’ll take off in the morning.”

“Alone?” Cas said while opening all the cupboards, trying to find wherever they kept things. Dean joined him and showed him the right one, with a gentle hand on his arm as he opened it. While he was there, he placed a kiss to the back of Cas’s neck; it looked so inviting. When he turned around, he found both Sam and Charlie watching them with soft looks on their faces.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he protested. “You heard my Angel. Are you going it alone? Charlie?”

“Uh,” Sam blushed. “Eileen called. She could use some help.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Friendly reminder,” Charlie chimed in. “You tease Sam about this, you give him free reign to tease you about those hickeys on your neck.”

“Point taken.”

The groceries were put away, and Dean dumped a pound and a half of ground beef into a work bowl. He mixed together paprika, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and a few secret ingredients and squished them into the meat. He’d let it marinate for a few hours in the fridge before dinner. Cas hadn’t had one of Dean’s homemade burgers yet, and he was certain the Angel would enjoy it, molecules notwithstanding.

“I thought I’d take off in the morning, too,” Charlie announced. “I’ll be back in a week or two to _eat my ramen_.” She said the last bit pointedly to Sam. “You guys deserve some alone time. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a hot hunter chick of my own.”

“Uh, thanks,” Dean blushed. “You guys wanna watch some Netflix? I think Cas is the only one of us caught up on Game of Thrones.”

“As long as there’s no chilling,” Sam warned.

“I don’t understand,” Cas frowned. “What does refrigeration have to do with quality television streamed directly to my television, computer, or mobile device?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Dean hesitated, and took Cas’s hands and placed it on his own hips. “Better yet, I’ll show you once these two losers are out of the bunker.”

“ _Not in my bed_ ,” Sam groaned. He moved ahead of them through the hallway to clean up said bed for their viewing pleasure. Dean had no intention of any other pleasure happening in Sam’s bed. They’d use the laptop and his own memory foam mattress for all _Netflix and Chill_ -ing.

“You probably shouldn’t give him his djinn world memories back,” Dean whispered to Cas once they were alone. 

“Wise decision,” Cas agreed. “We don’t need to remind him of what he could accidentally walk in on.”

Dean leaned over to kiss Cas before they’d have to behave around Sam. Cas kissed back, his tongue claiming Dean’s mouth like it had always belonged to him. Maybe it had.

“Love you,” Dean whispered.

“I love you, too, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _The Tempest,_ IV.i.1879, by William Shakespeare.


End file.
